Didn't See It Coming
by ForForever19
Summary: AU HS. After a devastating breakup, Quinn turns to Rachel in need of a friend, and ends up with so much more. - "If, one day, someone asks me how it all started; I'll have to say it was a granola bar that finally did me in." Faberry.
1. one

Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Glee Universe. No copyright infringement intended. All chapter quotations are from Nayyirah Waheed.

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AN: The story is AU, and contains angst and some triggers. It is a Multi-Chapter, and will involve alternating POVs. It also includes current popular culture references.

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 **Chapter One**

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 **Quinn**

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 _never_ _trust anyone_ _who says  
_ _they do not see colour.  
_ _this means,_ _to them,  
_ _you are invisible._

.

There's a moment during his clearly rehearsed speech where I stop listening. He's saying words but I'm not hearing them. I didn't hear anything past _I want to break up_. It's caught me off guard, and I feel as if I've just been slashed across the chest by an invisible sword. Cold all over. Wet and freezing. I'm shaking. When did I start shaking? His words are like ice, sweet and heartbreaking in their simplicity and complexity.

God, it hurts, and I automatically clutch at my stomach, desperately trying to stem the wave of - of - why does it hurt so much?

I jerk when his hand touches my shoulder, and his eyes widen at my reaction. His face morphs from confusion to concern, and it makes me sick.

"No," I say tensely. "You don't get to - " my voice falters. "Just, _don't_."

He leans back, waiting. It's surprising; he's never really been the patient type. _Evidently_. I mean, if this _talk_ is anything to go by, he's been lacking in patience an extremely long time. Two years, five months. It feels like a lifetime to me; to a teenager. It feels like forever. So much time. So much _wasted_ time.

I shiver, even though it isn't even cold. We're at the Lima Bean. It's almost a cliche, isn't it? Sitting here in a booth, in _public_. He's too much of a coward to do it in private. What does he expect? Does he really think it's going to hurt me less if there are people around to witness him break my heart?

Oh, no.

It's supposed to hurt _him_ less, which is a truth that hurts more than I expect it to. It's selfish of him. Everything about this entire situation is selfish of him. Stupid, selfish, dopey-faced idiot.

I don't even know if anger is what I'm feeling. Is this anger? I always thought anger was supposed to be warmer; just, _hot_. It shouldn't feel cold. Is there such a thing as cold anger? Cold hatred, yes, but anger? Something is rumbling inside of me, and I don't know what to do with it. It's so out of the blue. It's so surprising; so overwhelming. This isn't what I was expecting when he picked me up almost an hour ago, looking fidgety and nervous. I should have seen it coming. He only gets this way when -

The thing is we've broken up before. Once. In sophomore year, when he decided it was prudent for him to join the Glee Club. It was also just for a day anyway. We got over ourselves pretty quickly when I joined the stupid club as well. I did it with the intention of trying to make him happy - I never expected to _like_ it. And now, _this_.

He clears his throat, and I glance up, away from the coffee cup on the table in front of me. I've barely had a sip. He didn't exactly give me much time to get settled before he was dropping the bomb that he no longer wants me.

"Say something."

My eyes narrow almost automatically. "What do you want me to say?" I force out, my voice as icy as my heart.

He flinches at my tone. "Something. Anything."

I shift in my seat, levelling my gaze on him. "Fine," I say, sounding much calmer than I feel. "Answer me this: why?"

He frowns slightly, as if it's a question he's not expecting. Did he not think I'd want a proper explanation?

"And I don't want that crap you were just spewing," I add. "Tell me why, Finn. I want the truth. Don't hold back."

He takes a moment to find the words. _These_ aren't rehearsed. "I just, well, I don't - " he pauses. "We just don't work anymore."

I feel the words deep in the pit of my stomach but I push the hurt further down. Now isn't the time for a breakdown. Quinn Fabray will not break down in front of all these people; in front of _him_. "That's not good enough," I say.

"I don't want to do this anymore," he says, which doesn't hurt any less. "I'm tired of having to try so hard to get through to you. It's exhausting, Quinn. I'm exhausted." He runs a rough hand through his hair, tugging on the strands and looking conflicted. "You're great, and of course I love you. I always have. But it's not enough anymore. We've been together for more than two years, and it still feels as if you're holding me at arm's length. I don't get why you won't just let me all the way into that icy cold heart of yours."

My eyes flare dangerously at the sound of his words, and he leans back.

"Sorry," he says quickly, raising his hands in innocence. "I just - I mean, do you even _feel_ anything?"

My first instinct is to frown, but my expression remains passive. I know I'm keeping it all inside. I know I've put up this wall to stop myself from crying in this stupid coffee shop, but his words strike a barely-healed wound inside of me that feels _fatal_.

"Quinn?" he presses, risking moving closer to me, as if I'm some caged animal poised to attack any moment.

I blink slowly, my jaw tightening. "How can you ask me that?" I ask, my voice low and trembling. "I _love_ you, Finn."

"Maybe you do," he says, sighing. "And maybe that's enough for someone else, but I can't do this with you anymore, Quinn. In a few months, we'll be out of this place, and I don't want my entire high school experience to be wrapped up in trying to get you to match me for affection."

Well. Okay. Maybe telling him not to hold back was a bad idea.

"What is this really about?" I ask, grinding my teeth. "Do you want to date other people?"

He waits a beat. "Yes, Quinn, I do. I want to have other experiences that aren't just with you. We're both young. You're my first everything: crush, girlfriend, first time. I just, I want _more_."

More.

He wants more. Than me.

I force down the crushing hurt. If I don't, I know it's going to consume me, and I won't let it. Not in front of him. "I suppose I'm your first breakup as well," I say.

He risks a smile, but the first sight of my tears wipes it clean off his face. He slides closer to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Quinn, no, baby, please don't cry."

All I want to do is fall right into him, bury my face in the crook of his neck and let him take all the pain away. I want his comfort. I want him to tell me it's all some big joke; that he takes it back. It's a mistake. He doesn't mean it.

But he doesn't say any of that. His actual words are _worse_. "I'm sorry."

I don't want to hear it. I rip away from his touch and get to my feet, viciously wiping at my stray tears. "Just take me home, Finn," I say.

"Quinn?"

" _Please_."

He stands immediately, almost knocking over our drinks. I don't wait for him as I lead the way out of the Lima Bean, my arms crossed over my chest as if any other position will result in my falling apart. I also don't wait as I climb into his truck, slam the door and look outwards. I don't want to see him. I don't want to talk to him.

I stare resolutely out the window as he gets into the truck, inserts the key and starts the engine. It roars to life and I startle. It brings a small smile to my face for just a moment, before I _remember_. He doesn't want me. He wants more.

If there's no better way to say ' _You're not good enough_ ,' I don't know what is.

We drive in silence through the Lima streets, the rest of the world just going about their day as if my world isn't imploding. Because it is. This feeling, it's endless, and it hurts. I've never known a hurt like this, and I've been through my fair share of heartbreak. I've never been naïve enough to think I've experienced it all and maybe this is the universe just proving it to me.

Finn has been my entire life for so long. All the other things have never mattered as much as him, which is why this is all so much harder to accept. I don't fixture into his life the way he does into mine, and it's not okay. None of this is okay.

I'm not okay.

When he finally pulls up in front of my house, he kills the engine and we wait. I still can't look at him. I don't want to see his face, the one thing he's never truly been able to control. He's an open book in that respect; his emotions easily readable in his handsome features.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I don't know what I'm supposed to say. Does he want me to tell him it's okay? Does he expect me to make him feel better about what he's done to us? Because I won't. I _can't_.

"Do you believe me when I say that?"

I look at him. "What do you want to hear from me?" I ask, almost viciously. "What do you want, dammit?"

His eyes widen at my tone.

"It's been _two years_ , Finn," I snap. "If you've had such a problem with me, why didn't you tell me _sooner_?"

He recoils slightly. "I'm telling you now," he says darkly, his voice rising. "I thought I could do it, Quinn. I've tried talking to you, but you're so closed off; so set in your ways. If you won't let me all the way inside, what do you expect from me?"

"So this is my fault then?" I yell.

"Yes!" he screams back at me, and the sound is multiplied in the little cabbie. "If you weren't so damn controlling, I wouldn't be doing this. But no, you're just some emotionless robot and I can't fucking stand it anymore!"

I blink back tears. "Oh."

He seems to catch himself, just realising what he's said. "Quinn," he mumbles, reaching out for me. "God, I'm so sorry. I didn't meant that."

I shrink back, my eyes wide. "Is that really what you think of me?"

"Of course not."

I shake my head. "No, you do," I say. "You think I feel nothing... why? Because I don't kiss you in the school corridors? Because I don't smile enough or laugh enough or what? Because I'm not out of control with jealousy when you blatantly flirt with other girls in front of me? You think I feel nothing?" I let out a growl that surprises us both. "Well, let me tell you something, Finn. I'm feeling a hell of a lot right now. Can't you see? Look at me!"

He looks, but my expression is as passive as ever, despite my unshed tears.

"I'm angry," I say coolly. "I'm so heartbroken, I can feel it in the tips of my toes. I'm also fucking confused, and all I want to do is punch you in the face."

He makes a strangled sound in his throat, and it just makes me angrier. Livid. I didn't know I would be this kind of angry. But then, I also didn't know my loving boyfriend would decide to leave me in the middle of our senior year, as if I mean nothing.

As if I'm _less_.

My hands are shaking, and I ball them into tight fists to stop him from seeing. My nails are even digging into my palms.

"Quinn, please don't be mad," he says.

I drop my jaw. "Don't be mad?" I ask, incredulously. "Are you fucking delusional?"

He looks stumped and, yes, he is _that_ delusional, apparently. I _really_ want to punch him in the face right now. "Quinn," he whispers. " _Please_."

I shake my head, feeling my grip on my emotions loosen. It's going to happen. I'm going to break down and I'm still sitting here with him. Without another word, I open the door to get out but he grabs my wrist to stop me.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asks, and his voice is so sincere; a sob escapes from my throat.

I don't respond as I slide out of the cab and plant my feet firmly on the ground. It helps a little; the fresh air and the space. I remove my arm from his large hand and step back. I don't have any more words for him, so I just give him a brief look before I close the door and step further away.

We stare at each other for the longest time before he breaks the spell, sighs, and then reverses out of my driveway. All I can do is watch him drive away, just managing not to go running after him and ask him to stay. To take it all back.

When his truck disappears from sight, I turn to look at the house behind me. It's dark, probably empty, and the suffocating feeling is suddenly back, pressing down on my chest in an ugly way. My shoulders hunch and my breathing is rapid. Oh, God. Why does it hurt like this?

I can't bring myself to go inside. I'll just be alone in the dark, left with my thoughts and my heartbreak, and my feet just won't carry me forward. Before I know it, I'm stepping back, away from the house and onto the sidewalk. I walk away from that cold house, my body aching from suppressed emotions with the light of day disappearing behind the hills. I consider calling someone - maybe Santana or Brittany - but I'm not in the mood for their brand of sympathy. Santana would just insult me, and Brittany would probably try to make me feel better in some truly abstract way.

Any other Cheerios are a no. There's Mercedes. We're close, I guess, but -

I sigh. It's painfully obvious I don't really have the type of friends I can talk to about something like this. I don't think I've ever had those types of friends and, for so long, I've been okay with it. I wasn't missing much. I had Finn. He's always been the one I talk to about things. We've been through so much together. We've - we've conquered.

I walk and I walk, taking in the many houses. I turn down random streets that appeal to me, no clear destination in mind. Subconsciously, I suspect I'll round back to my house at some point, but I'm not ready for that. I think I'll just walk.

Turn right. Willow Street.

Turn right. Dame Avenue.

Turn left. Atholl Road.

Turn left. Jacaranda Avenue.

It's a shame there aren't any Jacaranda trees. Those are pretty, and they make a sea of purple.

I slow my pace at some point, though I'm not sure why, until I spot a house. It's just an ordinary house with white shutters and a red door, but there's just something about it that halts the movement of my legs and turns my body. I stare at it for the longest time, trying to determine _why_ I stopped in front of this particular one. There's something warm about it, I suppose. It feels homey, like it's lived in and full of love. It's nothing like my house; my cold, empty house that apparently matches my cold, empty heart.

There are lights on inside the house, and there's movement. There's sound. I think I catch laughter, but I can't be sure. It's something foreign to me, apparently. I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't even notice when a figure emerges from the house and walks towards where I'm standing on the sidewalk.

"Quinn?"

I startle, my heart practically jumping out of my chest as I look down at the feet of the owner of the voice. I'd know those Mary Janes anywhere. "Jesus," I mutter, my hand pressed to my chest. "Are you _trying_ to kill me?"

Rachel Berry sidles up to me, her posture mirroring mine as she stands in front of me. "What are you doing out here?" she asks, and the surprise is clear to hear in her voice.

"I should ask you the same question."

She waits a beat before she answers. "Well, I mean, I _do_ live here."

I glance at her, which is a mistake, given the quick gasp that she releases at the sight of me.

"Have you been crying?" she asks suddenly, stepping towards me. The light touch of her hand on my forearm brings a sharp intake of breath out of me, and she ducks her head to get a better look at my face because my gaze is firmly planted on the sidewalk between us. "Quinn," she whispers, and her tone is so caring; so pained, that it happens.

It just _happens_. I'm powerless to stop it.

The tears I've been so desperate to keep at bay announce their presence, and they practically surge straight out of my body. They blind me, and I reach out for her, just to have something to hold onto as everything Finn said suddenly hits me. Wounds me. It feels like it's killing me.

Rachel gasps in alarm, and I feel her grip on my arm disappear. For a moment, I panic: she's leaving me too; but then her arms are around my neck, drawing me into her embrace, and she just keeps me wrapped in her arms. She holds me close as I sob into her shoulder, my body shaking from the force of my tears. I'm vaguely aware of them soaking her sweater but still she holds me, her arms warm and comforting in a way I'm certain I don't deserve.

It feels like years have past when she eventually pulls back, barely releasing me. My eyes are still closed but I can feel her wiping the salty water off my cheeks with her fingers. It's a futile attempt because the tears haven't stopped.

"Hey," she murmurs, and I force my eyes open. There's a look of understanding on her face, a touch of sympathy and _something else_ I don't recognise. "Do you want to come inside?" she asks quietly, but it's not really a question.

I manage a slight nod, which jerks her into action. She slides an arm around my waist, practically supporting me, and guides me towards the front door. I stumble slightly when we reach the front porch - I can barely see - but her grip on me only tightens. Quietly, she pushes open the front door and we step inside. It's brighter in here and I automatically squint.

"Rachel?" a disembodied voice says from somewhere in the house.

"Everything's okay, Daddy," Rachel says from beside me, and even I can hear the lie in her voice. She's always been a lousy liar. "Come on," she whispers to me, and then we're heading up the stairs to what is her bedroom. I've been in it a few times - Glee Club kids are known snoopers - but it still surprises me. It's not the colours - pink and yellow - or the bedazzlement - there's a lot - but more the fact that it _feels_ like Rachel. Like comfort. Safe. And warm.

She guides me to the edge of her bed and sets me down. Her brow is furrowed in concern as she studies me for a moment, checking for my fight or flight response. "Stay here," she says, unnecessarily, because where am I going to go? "I'll be right back," she murmurs, her right hand tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

I watch her leave the room in silence. I don't even know what I'm doing here or _how_ I ended up in Rachel Berry's bedroom. Really, if anyone told me this was how I would be spending my evening, I would've been in hysterics. Everything seemed so much simpler this morning. This morning, I still had Finn. And now... now I have nobody. No father, no mother, no sister and no Finn.

When Rachel gets back, she has a bottle of water, a pill bottle, a small tub of ice-cream, a fresh bowl of popcorn, a six-pack of soda and three bars of chocolate with her. She's pouting a little as she manoeuvres through the door with her tray, and I almost smile. Almost.

"I don't know what we're nursing, so I brought everything," she says. "My Daddy's making his famous burgers for dinner, but they won't be ready for a while."

I just stare at her.

Rachel sets the tray down on her desk, grabs the pill bottle and water before moving towards me. She's cautious with her approach, as if I'll bolt if she makes too sudden a movement. Slowly, she moves to sit on the edge of her bed, one leg tucked under her so she can face me comfortably.

"Do you have a headache?" she asks. "I have some Advil if you do."

I _do_ have a headache, but it pales in comparison to whatever is going on in my chest. Will Advil help with that? I shake my head at her, and her shoulders tense.

She sets the bottles aside and gives me her undivided attention. "I don't know what I'm dealing with here, Quinn," she says carefully, keeping her voice even. For a moment, I marvel at how she can sound both light and heavy at the same time. How does she do that? There's such a gravity to her voice, and yet she still sounds painfully upbeat. "Did something happen?"

I jerk a nod. I can't say it out loud.

"Okay," she says. "Was it something bad?" Then: "Scratch that. Obviously, it was bad." She reaches out to take one of my hands, probably just to stop my nervous fidgeting. "Is it your mom?" she asks.

I shake my head.

"Uh, the Cheerios?"

Another shake.

"Finn?"

I whimper, and she squeezes my hand.

"Something happened with Finn," she deduces, turning the idea over in her mind. Then, gasping quietly, she asks: "Quinn? You're not pregnant again, are you?"

An unexpected laugh escapes my lips. "God, no."

"She speaks," Rachel says, squeezing my fingers again, though she does look relieved. "Are you going to tell me what's going on or are you going to make me keep guessing?"

I say nothing.

She huffs in mild annoyance. "Okay, this is clearly to do with Finn. You're definitely emotional." She ponders it. "Is this like sophomore year when the two of you broke up for two seconds?"

I wish. Honestly, that one day had been torturous in the kind of way I've never been able to explain. Say what you want about my relationship with Finn, but that was the moment I figured out that I really loved him.

In the beginning, when we first started out, it was just what was expected: the Quarterback and the Head Cheerleader. We _fit_. I liked him well enough, but then those dopey smiles and heartwarming idiocy wormed their way into my hard shell of a heart, and I was a goner.

Then the boy decided to join Glee Club and _ruin_ everything.

We fought and _broke up_ the way sixteen-year-olds can, and I realised I didn't want to be without him. Which was why I _tried_. I tried so hard to make it work by joining Glee _with him_ , and this is how he treats me.

Though, in hindsight, that I-love-you realisation had to be the best and the worst thing to ever happen to me, and to us. Getting pregnant the first time you have sex is a probability that never should have resulted when Finn Hudson and Quinn Fabray finally decided to take the _next step_ \- straight to children - in their relationship. Really, it took me _months_ to allow him to touch me properly again, after I pushed out an entire human being from down there.

"Quinn?" Rachel's voice brings me back to the present, and I sigh. "Did you...? Uh, did you two break up?"

I can't answer. Even if I could, the sudden wave of fresh tears stops any coherent words from coming out. I'm crying again, and Rachel's pulling me into her embrace, her arms wrapping around me and holding me _together_. Her left hand slides up and down my back, soothing me. It's the kind of gentle movement that could bring a person back to life. It's what I need, too, because I feel as if I'm dying. All the life I've lived these past two years and five months has been so tied up in Finn, and my relationship with Finn. I don't even know who I am without him.

Which, I suppose, might give some credit to his argument, but I'm still just too mad to accept that right now.

When my sobs subside, I pull back, embarrassed. "Sorry," I mumble, deftly wiping at my eyes.

Rachel reaches for a box of tissues situated on her nightstand and hands one to me. "Don't be sorry," she tells me. "If you'd seen me after Jesse and I broke up... _wow_. I think I scared my dads so much, they considered getting my therapist to make a house visit." She falls silent for a beat. "Though, that really could have been because of the trauma of the eggs."

I can't help my smile this time, and my gaze slides up to meet hers. There's such a pure and earnest look in her eyes, and I suddenly feel unworthy to be sitting here, receiving all this comfort and kindness from a girl I'm not even sure I particularly like on the average day. Sure, I've toned down the insults - they come out only when provoked - and we have conversations from time to time, but the two of us have never really been friends.

Just, _friendly_.

And definitely not friendly enough for _this_.

"I should go," I suddenly say, even though I don't move.

She ignores me. "Why were you in front of my house?" she asks.

"Easy there, Berry," I say. "I was just walking around. I didn't _know_ this was your house when I stopped." Which is odd, because I've been here before. It looks different in the dark, perhaps. I'll go with that.

She looks thoughtful. "Why were you just walking around?"

"Because I didn't want to be home alone," I answer, almost automatically. And then panic. Why did I say that? "I mean, uh, it's just my mom isn't exactly around right now. She's visiting my sister for the weekend." I frown. "Wow, he really picked the _best_ weekend for this, didn't he?" I can't even say his name out loud, let alone what he _did_.

She must pick up on something in my words because her eyes widen in the most comical way. "Wait," she says, frowning. "Finn broke up with _you_?"

All I can do is stare, as I try to keep fresh tears away.

"I don't - " she starts; "I don't understand."

Join the club, Berry.

"I mean, you're _you_ ," she adds a moment later. "Did he say why, if you don't mind my asking?"

I blink. "Uh..."

She squeezes my hand. "Sorry," she says, noticing my distress. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I didn't mean to pry."

"I _do_ want to tell you," I find myself saying; "just, not now."

"Okay," she says, rather brightly. "Want to watch a brainless comedy and pig out instead?"

I can barely get out a nod before she's up and moving. She's almost a blur, I swear, as she sets up some movie on her television, shifts the tray to the bed and plonks herself down on the other side of me. She doesn't say anything more as she lifts the remote, presses play, grabs the popcorn and moves back to recline against her headboard. I've never been so grateful for her silence in my entire life, and it takes me a moment to consider moving.

After an internal debate, I toe off my shoes and shift as well, moving into a position similar to hers and holding my abdomen. I feel a little like a turtle.

"You look like a turtle," she suddenly says, and my eyes snap towards her in surprise. She looks alarmed. "I don't mean that in a bad way," she hurries to say. "It's just, you know, the green dress, the..." she trails off. "Never mind."

I shake my head, feeling a little uncomfortable with the idea she could have been inside my head. I reach for the (possibly melting) ice-cream. "Is this vegan?" I ask.

"No."

I hum in response. It's Rocky Road, which is particularly ironic following the events of the day. I don't even know how I'm supposed to get through this. I mean, Finn might think I've never let him all the way in, but he's the one who's got the furthest, and now... he's set everything he's been given access to on fire.

Right.

Never making that mistake again.

We watch the movie in silence for a while. I don't even know what movie it is because I'm not really paying attention. I'm not really thinking about him either, which I guess is good. I'm rather thinking about the girl just to my right, who's attention is fixed on her television screen. I can tell she's burning with questions. Her hands twitch as if she's trying to stop herself from comforting me with her touch, and I can't help but find it endearing.

As the movie goes on, I lean forward to get that Advil, and Rachel opens the bottle of water for me.

"Thanks," I murmur, taking it from her and downing the medication. I don't actually know if it will help because the throbbing in my head has been a little welcoming. Something to focus on other than the throbbing in my chest.

I think my movement prompts something because, before I know it, Rachel's reached out to take hold of my right hand, and she holds it in the space between our bodies. It's... comforting. Grounding, in a way. She's _still_ , which is also nice.

Somehow, we end up leaning against each other, shoulder to shoulder, as we let the stupidity of the movie drown out all thoughts. She's warm against me, comforting without even trying. This entire situation is just weird, but so is this whole day.

When the movie comes to an end, she turns to look at me. "Another one?"

I don't respond to the question. "Do you think I'm a horrible person?" I ask, my voice barely audible.

Rachel doesn't answer immediately. "If you'd asked me this question freshman year, I probably would have said yes," she confesses, and I close my eyes at the memory of my younger, bullying self. I did some terrible things that I'm not proud of, but I like to think I've changed and matured; grown into the expectations of Quinn Fabray, Head Cheerleader. "But no, I don't think you're a horrible person, Quinn." She smiles in reassurance. "I actually think you're rather special, even if you choose to show it only to certain people and only at certain times."

"Does that make me a bitch?"

She frowns. "Just because you're not an open book?"

I nod once.

"I'll admit that it _can_ be disconcerting sometimes," she says. "To the outside world, you're one way, and then an entirely different way with your friends, or with, uh, Finn."

Not different enough, apparently.

Rachel's gaze meets mine, and I feel exposed. Like, she's looking straight into me and seeing everything I didn't even know I was trying to hide. I look away. "Is that why?"

"What?"

"Is that why Finn, uh, ended it? Because of the different sides?"

I blink, fighting off a wave of hurt just at the sound of his name. Seriously, how do people do this? "I don't even know," I admit. "He said a lot of things, and I think I've barely registered anything after 'I want to break up with you' and 'your cold icy heart.'"

She gasps loudly, and she looks genuinely scandalised. "He _didn't_?"

I shrug.

"Well, he's an idiot," she says dismissively. "I barely know you, but even I know that's not true. There isn't ice in your heart, Quinn. Anyone with half a brain can see that. I mean, sure, you've done some questionable things in the past - I have too - but you're definitely not cold." I drop my gaze. "You don't actually believe him, do you?"

Before I can respond, we're interrupted, which I read as a sign from the heavens.

"Rachel," a voice calls from downstairs. "Dinner's ready."

I tense immediately.

She feels it. "Hey," she whispers, and I feel her thumb move over the top of my hand. "We don't have to go downstairs if you don't want to," she offers. "I can bring the food up here, if you'd prefer that."

God, why is the so damn _nice_? "No, I'm okay," I say, which is such a lie, and we both know it. "It'd be rude," I add. "I mean, I haven't even _greeted_ your parents yet." And I'm nothing if not a polite, well-mannered guest to other houses.

"Are you sure?"

"No."

She laughs lightly, squeezing my hand one last time, before she gets up off the bed. Carefully, she smoothes out her clothing - as much as you can jeans and a sweater - and then moves to switch off the television. "If you'd like to use the bathroom, it's through there," she says, gesturing towards a closed door off her bedroom.

I look at her. "Is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me I look like crap?"

"I don't think there's ever been a day when you've looked like, uh, crap," she says, and her voice is almost a whisper. "Even like this, you're beautiful."

I'll admit, I'm a little stumped. How do I even reply to that?

She shakes her head, as if she's trying to clear it. "We'll be downstairs whenever you're ready," she tells me before she leaves. All I can do is watch her go, fight off my sudden, inexplicable panic, and then get up and go to the bathroom. Despite what she thinks, I must look a sight.

I'm not wrong. My eyes are puffy and red, my cheeks are splotchy and my hair is looking like a bird's nest.

Sighing, I splash my face with cold water and try to tame my hair. After a quick use of the toilet, I smooth out as many wrinkles from my dress as I can, take a deep breath, and then head downstairs.


	2. two

**Chapter Two**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _you ask your heart why it is always hurting.  
_ _it says 'this is the only thing you will allow me to say to you.  
_ _the only feeling you are willing to feel.'_

 _._

"Don't be weird."

My Dad lets out a snicker, and I shoot him a pointed look that wipes the humour from his face. "We hear you, Sweetheart," he says quietly, dropping his gaze. I should feel bad, but all I want is for Quinn to feel safe and comfortable here.

"I'm sorry," I say anyway. I don't want my dads to be uncomfortable either. "She's just - she's had a rough day, and she's nervous, and please don't interrogate her or ask questions about her family or her boyfriend or, you know, _things_."

My Dad stands up straighter, almost puffing out his chest. "You can count on us," he says.

I let out a light laugh, just as I hear a familiar creak on the third last stair. I turn to the kitchen door, fully expecting Quinn to emerge, but she doesn't. I cast a dubious look at my Dad before I leave the kitchen in search of the blonde. I find her on that third step, hovering silently in the dark. She _does_ look nervous, her lower lip between her teeth and her gaze downcast.

I hold out a hand for her to take. "Come on," I say; "we don't bite."

"Speak for yourself," my Dad calls out, and I roll my eyes.

"Ignore him," I tell Quinn; "I normally do."

"I heard that."

Quinn lets out a small chuckle, and she seems to relax just a bit. Well, enough to slip her hand into mine and allow me to lead her into the kitchen. Into the light. I'll admit I'm a little caught off guard by the change in appearance. Her tears had smeared her makeup, but now it's all gone, and a bare Quinn is even more beautiful. It's not even fair, truly.

"Uh, Quinn, this is my Dad, Hiram, and over there by the stove is my Daddy, LeRoy," I say. She's met them in a group setting before, but I reintroduce them anyway. It might ease her into the evening a bit more, which we're all going to need.

Like clockwork, Quinn's smile - I assume it's a forced one - takes residence on her face and she looks at my dads with the kindest eyes I've ever seen. How anyone could think there's ice in there, really, is beyond me. "Good evening, Mr Berry and Mr Berry," she says, and she giggles quietly. It's the softest sound, and a smile blooms on my face. "I'm sorry for arriving unannounced like this."

"Oh, nonsense," my Dad says, waving a hand in dismissal. "Between you and me, I think LeRoy's just glad to have another meat eater around for dinner."

Quinn smiles again, and it seems more genuine. "Are you vegan too, sir?" she asks.

"It's Hiram, Quinn," he says gently. "And, yes, I am. LeRoy claims I've brought Rachel to the dark side."

"You have," the man at the stove comments, flipping the last burger patty. "Sit, sit, everyone," he calls over his shoulder. "We've got to eat them while they're still hot."

It takes us a moment to get seated at the kitchen table. It _is_ designed for six people, but my Daddy has his work on the one end of the table, which makes it a little tight. Quinn ends up sitting right next to me - almost on me, if you ask me - but I don't mind. I think she draws comfort from my proximity, which is just so mind-blowing that my chest swells whenever I think about it. Until this moment, I was convinced she just used to tolerate my existence, but now she's here, conversing with my dads and eating dinner with us.

Even without having warned my dads about the emotional rollercoaster Quinn's been on, it's easy to see she's not quite happy right now. It's obvious she tries, though. She pays attention as best she can but, once the smile slips off her face, it isn't as easily replaceable. My dads cast worried looks my way but I'm about as lost as they are. I mean, I've been with my friends through their breakups before but Quinn Fabray is entirely new territory.

She doesn't eat much, and is quick to apologise for her lack of appetite. "It really is delicious though," she says to my Daddy, and there's sincerity in there. "I'm sorry if it looks as if I'm not enjoying it."

He looks at her for a moment, understanding in his eyes. "Oh, that's all right, Quinn," he says. "I suppose you'll just have to come back another night to get the full Berry experience."

She looks up, blinking. "I - I can come back?"

My dads exchange a look. "Of course," my Daddy says. "You're always welcome here."

Quinn drops her gaze then, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she worries her bottom lip. She looks so much like a lost child right now; it's difficult for me to consolidate her with the fearless - sometimes ruthless - Head Cheerleader she is at school. Oh, Finn... what did you do?

The conversation is a little stilted after that, but nobody presses Quinn to talk. I try to fill the silence as best I can, telling my dads about my uneventful Friday. Really, it was one of the most boring days... until Quinn showed up on my sidewalk, looking at my house with something wistful in her eyes.

When we're done eating - save for Quinn, I guess - we clear up. Quinn insists on helping me with the dishes, and I suspect she just wants something to do. Anything to keep her mind occupied.

When she's dried the last plate and placed it back in its rightful place, the reality of the evening settles back down on us, and I can practically see her body carry the weight of it, her shoulders sagging and her face falling. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm pulling her into another hug. She's not crying. It's the first one we've had when she's not crying uncontrollably, and the stillness of this embrace is both welcoming and overwhelming.

"Do you really think everything is going to be okay?" she asks quietly, her breath tickling my neck.

"I do," I tell her, my voice confident and firm.

She sighs, and I try not to squirm. I'm a ticklish person and I'm convinced it'd be a death sentence if she were to find out just how much.

"Do you want to go back upstairs?" I ask, pulling back so I can look at her. "Maybe watch another horrible movie? _Drink_ the melted ice-cream?"

She smiles for just a moment before she nibbles at her bottom lip, which I'm coming to learn is a sign of her nerves. She's unsure, and I wait, trying not to feel a sudden wave of hurt of my own. "Can I?" she eventually asks, her voice quiet. "I mean, I don't want to intrude on your evening. Maybe you have plans, and I just showed up and now - "

"Hey," I interrupt, reaching for both of her hands. "You're starting to sound like me," I tease. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it, Quinn. You're also welcome to spend the night if you want."

Her eyebrows rise at the sound of that. "Really?"

I nod.

"Because... I don't really want to go back to an empty house."

"I don't want you to either," I say, squeezing her hands. "Then it's settled. I think I have some sweats that could probably fit you." I lead the way back upstairs, one of her hands still in mine. It feels natural in a way I don't quite understand, and it isn't as if she's protesting. I do let go when we enter my bedroom, and I disappear into my closet to find her something to wear. She's taller than me, but that's the main difference, I guess. My dance and her cheerleading have given us both somewhat athletic builds.

When I find something suitable, I go back into my room to find Quinn seated on the edge of my bed. She's staring into space, clearly lost in her own little world. As heartbreaking as it is, it's also rather fascinating. I've been under no illusion that there's more to Quinn Fabray than she lets the general public see, and I can't help feeling I've bought a ticket to the show.

Apparently, Finn Hudson decided to return his.

"These should fit," I say, interrupting her thoughts.

She startles slightly, and then offers me an embarrassed smile. "Sorry," she murmurs.

"No worries," I assure her, smiling in return.

She stands and takes the clothes from me. "Thanks," she says, and then disappears into my bathroom. I return to my closet and change into my own pyjamas: just sweats and an old band camp t-shirt. Quinn and I are going to match, apparently. Totally unintentional, I swear.

She raises her eyebrows when I step out, and then smiles. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you did this on purpose."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, moving towards the television to put in another movie. "Any preference?"

"I'm flexible."

I swallow audibly as I pick another random, mundane comedy and pop it in. I don't even think I looked at the title, which is a moot point in the end because Quinn and I barely watch it. It's odd, really, but my attention can never quite leave her face once we start talking. We're lying side by side, our shoulders leaning against each other and her hand in mine. It mirrors our earlier position but something seems different. I can't say what.

We don't talk about anything particularly profound. In fact, we start off discussing veganism. At first, I think she's just humouring me, but the way she's looking at me as I speak proves she's actually, genuinely interested. Finding people who actually listen to me when I talk is rare.

"Are you thinking of trying it?" I ask.

She lets out a breathy laugh, and I feel it wash over me. "I'm not against _trying_ it," she confesses. "Though, I have to say I'd probably give it up pretty quickly. I'm a little too in love with bacon for that kind of life."

I wrinkle my nose. "Ew."

She smiles, and I feel immensely proud that I put it there. "It amazes me, really, that you can be that happy all the time without having tasted the wonder that is bacon."

Something about her words stills the air in my throat and I look at her. "You know, I'm not happy _all the time_ ," I tell her. My voice drops in volume, and her smile slips away. I almost want to kick herself.

"I know," she says sombrely, her hand squeezing mine this time. "I suppose you're just better at hiding it than others." She cocks her head to the side. "Though, you have been known to deliver a perfected diva storm-off."

I laugh. "We have to give the people what they want."

She looks thoughtful. "Look, if you want to talk about anything, you can," she says sincerely. "I know I'm here because..." she trails off. "Just, if you _do_ want to talk - about anything - I'd like to, uh, listen."

"Something tells me you would be good at it," I murmur, and she nods once in agreement. "I'm more worried about you though," I tell her.

Tears spring to her eyes almost immediately, and she's falling into me as another flurry of sobs takes over her body. I slip an arm around her shoulders and draw her closer, trying not to think about how devastating it is to hear her cry; to see her in so much pain that I can't even understand. I mean, I know she's human and of course she feels pain, but she's never shown it. Not to me, at least. She's probably shown it to Santana, Brittany and Finn, but here she is now, crying into my shoulder and still looking pretty.

When she pulls away, she wipes at her eyes and starts to apologise.

"Don't," I say. "It's okay. I'm convinced my shoulder was designed for just such a moment."

She lets out a small laugh, her eyes falling on my face before drifting down to my shoulder where her tears have created a rather large stain on my grey t-shirt. They widen at the sight. "After all my crying today, you'd think I'd run out of tears by now."

Silently, I reach for the bottle of water further down the bed and hand it to her. "You should probably stay hydrated."

She takes it gratefully, and then drinks about half the bottle. I can't help but stare at her throat as she swallows, a weird feeling settling in the pit of my stomach.

We talk about other things then, mostly about movies and music. She mentions, rather casually, that she plays the piano, which shouldn't surprise me but it does. Why hasn't she ever played in Glee Club?

Her shrugged response doesn't deter me. "I think you should," I say.

"You don't even know if I'm any good," she points out.

"I can't imagine you being bad at anything."

"Other than relationships, apparently," she comments darkly, and the mood immediately changes. She sighs, as if she's just realised what she's said. "I didn't think there would come a day when h-he wouldn't want me," she says quietly. "I thought, after everything we've been through, this would be it. _He_ would be it. I didn't have to worry about living a life without him. We were going to be together forever. I mean, how naive is that?"

"It's not naive," I hurry to say.

She shakes her head. "No, Rachel, I know better," she says, and her voice is stern. "I've seen life and love fall apart. I _know_ it doesn't last forever, and I was just too blind and stupid to think it ever would with, uh, him."

I don't know what to say to her.

She runs her free hand through her hair. "I should never have let him get as close as he did. I should never have let him have the power to hurt me like this. I should have been stronger. I should have known better. I'm better than this. I deserve better than this." She looks at me. "Don't I?" She starts speaking again before I can get a word out. "I mean, I know I haven't been the greatest person in the past. I know I've made life choices that are considered questionable. I know I'm not the nicest person, but does that mean I des - " her voice catches, and there are fresh tears in her eyes. It's not the overwhelming type, so I don't draw her close, but my left hand does slide over her upper arm, trying to soothe her.

She wipes away the offending tears with her free hand. "I suppose this isn't helping with my HBIC cred, is it?" she says, mocking herself.

"Not exactly," I tell her; "but it is helping with the Quinn side."

She breathes out. "Do you think I hide myself too much?"

"Yes." It sounds almost desperate, and I panic slightly. "I mean, I know _I'd_ like to get to know the real Quinn Fabray a bit better."

She nods once, twice, before she deflates, leaning into me that bit more. She's so warm and soft and, despite the fact she's in my clothes, she still smells distinctly like Quinn. Maybe it's her shampoo or her perfume, or just her unique smell, but it's settling. As weird as this entire night has been for me, and for her, she's still Quinn.

We talk about Harry Potter next. I don't know how we get there, but we do. We sort each other into Houses - Hufflepuff for me and Gryffindor for her - which just makes her arch a perfect eyebrow and, instead of fearing it, I marvel in it.

"I thought for sure you'd choose Slytherin," she says, eyeing me curiously.

"It's not that I don't think you're cunning, Quinn," I tell her. "In fact, I think you'd probably fit into any of the Houses. It's just, well, I think it's your bravery and courage and your ferocity that shine through the most. And, isn't that what the sorting is about? I'm loyal, and you're fierce. They're our most valued and endearing qualities. Because, by definition, I could be Slytherin too."

"You _did_ send our competition to a crackhouse."

I groan. "It was empty!"

She giggles. Like, actually giggles, and it's probably the greatest sound I've ever hard. Honestly, after all the tears of tonight, I'm just so relieved she _can_ still giggle, loud and proud and without any qualms.

"And it was one time," I add, and am rewarded with a full-on Quinn Fabray laugh that makes a flutter erupt in my stomach. Huh?

Quinn looks at me through her lashes. "You're too much, sometimes," she says gently. It's not meant to be an insult. She hasn't done that in a while, but she says it in a way to make sure I know she wasn't trying to hurt me.

She apologised once. It was just a few weeks after the school found out about the pregnancy; just days after her parents kicked her out. I don't recall how it happened, but we were the only two people in the choir room. I might've been getting extra practice in and she might've just been early. I remember her glowing that day, somehow growing into her pregnancy; embracing it in a way.

To this day, I still can't imagine what it must have been like without her parents or without her home. At least she had Finn.

But now she doesn't.

I'd wanted to talk to her since I found out her parents kicked her out, but I didn't know what to say. What does one say, truly? But, before I could even think to apologise, she was apologising to me. It was so unexpected, I remember just standing there and staring at her (I do a lot of staring at her, apparently.) It was a relatively quick apology. She didn't go into detail; just said she was sorry for how she'd always treated me. Of course, by then, the bullying had stopped, but it was the first time she acknowledged it at all. I didn't get the chance to respond before the room was filling up again.

We've never discussed it again.

"I know," I find myself saying. "I'll never change."

"And I'll never want you to."

We fall silent as we tune in to the last few minutes of the pointless movie. As soon as the credits roll, I carefully extricate myself from around Quinn and change the DVD to a stand-up comedy show. It goes over much better, because I get to hear so much of Quinn's laugh that it feels as if there's a hurricane going on in my stomach. She's practically breathless by the time the final joke is said, and I can only marvel at the rose pink of her cheeks and the tears of laughter in her eyes.

She places a hand over her heart. "Wow. I definitely needed that." She lets out a yawn, and even that is graceful. I mean, seriously?

"Tired?" I ask.

She nods.

I get off the bed and start the preparations for calling it a night. During the comedy show, my dads dropped by to wish us goodnight, only one of them raising eyebrows at how close to each other we were sitting, so it's just Quinn and me. When I've cleared the bed and switched off the television, I go into the bathroom. My nightly routine can be extensive, but I abridge it for tonight. I remove a new toothbrush from the pile under the sink and place it on the counter for Quinn. I use the toilet, brush my teeth, wash my face, and then slip out. She goes in a minute later.

I switch off the main light and flick on my lampshade before I climb into my side of the bed. I absently wonder if I should have offered Quinn the guest bedroom, but I don't want her far in case she devolves into another bout of sobs during the night. I want her close.

I mean, it's one thing to have Quinn Fabray show up on your doorstep - without even meaning to, apparently - but this is something else entirely. Quinn is right here, in my bedroom, in my clothes, about to crawl into _my_ bed. It's unheard of. It's unprecedented.

"Wow."

I look up at her, frowning slightly.

She's smiling. "Do you always think that loudly?"

I blush. I can't help it.

She pads across the carpet towards her side of the bed - her side, really? - with a small, knowing smile on her face. "I've always wondered, you know, do you also think in run-on sentences?"

I gasp. "I resent that, Fabray," I mutter, and am rewarded with such a genuine smile that my breath gets caught in my throat. There's a childish quality to it, the sides of her mouth sliding upwards and the slightest revelation of her perfect pearly-whites. I stare.

Thankfully, she doesn't notice, as she slips under the covers with enough grace to put princesses to shame. She shifts until she's comfortably lying on her back, her eyes on the stars on my ceiling. They brighten when I reach over to turn off the lampshade.

"I didn't plan this well," she says after we've laid in the dark for a full minute. "I didn't plan this at all."

I just listen.

"I'm just relieved your Daddy has contact fluid," she says.

"I didn't even know you wear contacts," I inform her.

Slowly, she turns onto her side to look at me and I look into the most perfect hazel eyes I've ever seen. Admittedly, she looks a little unfocused, but now I know why. I turn over as well and shift closer, so I'm clearer, I guess. "I've worn them since before freshman year," she says quietly, as if she's revealing a deep and dark secret. "The only person who's seen me in my glasses is..." she trails off. Finn. She hasn't said his name out loud and, frankly, I don't blame her. "So, it makes sense you wouldn't know I'm slowly going blind."

"Is it that bad?"

She shrugs. "I guess not. There are cases so bad that they can't even wear contacts."

I nod in understanding.

She closes her eyes and reaches blindly for my hand. I smile as I slip my left into her right, and she sighs. Her breath is warm and minty, and I can't help my smile as I study what I can see of her face in the dark. She's honestly the prettiest girl I've ever seen. I'm willing to admit it, truthful and honest. It's the kind of pretty a person can't even believe, sometimes. Her features, yes, and her eyes. The kind of pretty you could stare at for hours and hours, trying to convince yourself it's actually real. Yes, a human being _can_ look like that.

After a minute, I close my eyes as well.

And, when I fall asleep, I dream of hazel eyes, genuine smiles and content giggling.

* * *

Quinn's side of the bed is empty when I wake up. Once glance at my clock tells me it's just gone eight o'clock, which is actually late for me, even on a Saturday. Why didn't I hear my alarm? Did I actually sleep through my alarm? I've never done that before. Well, I did, once, but that was because of the anaesthetic still in my system, I'm sure.

Wait. Where's Quinn?

I sit up suddenly, my ears drawn to the sound of my shower running. Oh. I lie back down, breathing out as memories of the previous night come to mind: finding Quinn standing in front of our house, having her break down in my arms - several times - and sleeping beside her.

Eventually, I roll out of bed and move towards my dresser. I pull a brush through my hair, just to make it look presentable until I can get a chance to shower. It shouldn't be long now, because I hear the shower turn off. I hope she can find the towels under the sink.

It's when Quinn has been in there for another fifteen minutes that I start to worry.

Five minutes later, I get up, move towards the door and knock gently. "Quinn?" I say.

Silence.

"Quinn?" I try again. "Are you okay in there?"

There's no sound for a few seconds, and then I hear it. It's just a whimper, small and significant, but it has me panicked in an instant. My hand moves to the handle and I turn it, unsurprised to find it locked.

"Quinn, open the door," I say, trying to keep my voice calm. "Quinn? Quinn? Open the door. You have to open the door. Open the door!" My panic is seeping out of me now and I can't keep it out of my voice. "Quinn? Quinn? Please, you have to open the door."

There's a beat of silence, and then I hear the click of the lock. I barely wait a second before I'm opening the door, unsure what I'm going to find. I'm both surprised and also not when I see her on the floor by the bathtub, curled up in just her towel, the sobs attacking her body. Her hair is damp from the shower, and her cheeks are wet from her tears.

I move to kneel down beside her, wrapping her in my arms without a qualm to the fact that she's still wet in places and she's _practically naked_.

"It's okay," I murmur into her wet hair, my hand sliding over it. "It's okay. You're going to be okay. I've got you. You'll be okay." I keep repeating the same sentiments until her trembling stops. I don't let her go. I can't get the image of possibly finding her _not okay_ out of my head and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, forcing the thoughts away.

"I'm sorry," she cries, burrowing into me a bit more. "I don't mean to be such a basket case. I'm such a mess."

"Hey," I soothe, unable to stop myself from dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "Do you realise to whom you're talking?"

She lets out a small laugh that sounds wet and painful, and I just hold her closer. "I was just," she starts; "I was _fine_ , and then I just wasn't." She sighs. "Also, I think I may or may not have finished all your hot water."

"I don't even care about that," I say. "I was just worried about you."

She burrows into me again and her breath tickles my neck. I try not to squirm, but I must fail because she pulls away quite suddenly, looking embarrassed. "Uh..." she starts, but I reach for her again, inviting her back into my embrace.

"I'm ticklish," I admit. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Ticklish, huh?" she asks, arching an eyebrow. "Interesting."

I swallow audibly, but she does come back, and I can't help thinking that I never want to let her go. When my body starts to cramp, I initiate the release and we go about the rest of getting ready as if none of it happened. When I'm done with my shower, Quinn isn't in my room. I find her downstairs in the kitchen with my dads, talking to them about her favourite books. It's no secret to anyone who's bothered to look that Quinn Fabray is an avid reader.

She's sitting at the breakfast nook, deftly slicing fruit for breakfast and discussing Shakespeare with my Dad. I can smell pancakes, but I'm too preoccupied with the steady smile on Quinn's face to register the grumbling in my stomach. She's still dressed in my sweatpants and a fresh t-shirt, but there's something so much _fresher_ about her. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and I don't think I've ever seen her look this relaxed in my entire life.

"My favourite is actually _Hamlet_ ," Quinn is telling my Dad, and I just stand in the doorway and watch. "I know it's tragic and truly depressing. I also know that Ophelia is probably one of the weakest female characters the Bard portrayed, but there's something to be seen in the intricate way he crafts Hamlet's struggle to accept the truth he's learned."

My Dad is practically salivating.

"I suppose I can relate to that in some way," Quinn continues. "It probably sounds stupid but I like to imagine that things would make more sense if a person could actually make a soliloquy in real life."

"I don't think it's stupid at all," my Dad says. "I, personally, enjoy the pathetic fallacy of it all."

Quinn smiles knowingly, and my breath catches. "To be honest, I expected a tornado to hit Lima yesterday or something equally drastic, given everything that's been going on inside of me."

I watch my Dad nod in understanding, though he says nothing.

My Daddy suddenly declares the pancakes ready, and I startle, even squeaking. It does a good job of alerting them to my presence and I'm met with two chorused _Good morning_ s, and a small smile from Quinn.

"We made pancakes," my Daddy exclaims, waving a spatula.

"We?" I question warily, moving into the kitchen and stopping right beside Quinn.

"Quinn and I," he answers. "She made the non-vegan batter, so you won't even get to taste them. Which I did, and they're delicious."

I pout for just a moment before I glance at Quinn and smile at her blush.

"Can we keep her?" he asks, and I laugh.

"Sure, Daddy," I say; "we can keep her."

Once we get settled at the kitchen table - there's more space this morning, though Quinn is still sitting rather close to me - conversation continues. Quinn is a lot more present this morning, and my dads seem more at ease. I mean, of course they know who Quinn Fabray is. They know of _before_ , and they know of _now_. They recognise a person's ability to change and, really, Quinn is like a parent's wet dream: all polite, well-mannered, soft-spoken and generally just can-we-swap-our-kid-for-you. If I wasn't so lost in this new dynamic, I'd find it a little annoying.

Quinn and my Dad get back to talking about Shakespeare, and I exchange a look with my Daddy. He rolls his eyes but his smile is genuine.

"Personally, I think _Macbeth_ is my favourite," my Dad says. "I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but I think the message behind the everlasting destruction of blind ambition is important. Lady Macbeth, as awful as she is, is such a powerful character, even if you can find a way to ignore her gender. The lengths she goes to. The brutality. Did you feel the same?"

I pipe up. "We haven't studied _Macbeth_."

My Dad looks stricken, his eyes on Quinn. "Oh, I just assumed... with all your prior knowledge - "

"Actually," Quinn says, gently interrupting him and placing a hand on my forearm. "I _have_ studied _Macbeth_ , and I do feel the same. Macbeth might have had the ambition to be King, but I do believe his wife was, indeed, the reason he even considered _doing_ something about it. Otherwise, I don't think he would've had it in him to go through with the murder at all."

I just stare at her, dumbfounded. "But... how?"

She ducks her head a little, blushing. "Uh, I may or may not take classes at the local college during the summer," she admits, and I can't bring myself to look away from her.

"That's brilliant," my Dad says. "What other Shakespearean works have you done?"

Quinn lifts her head, her blush still in full force, though her voice sounds anything but shy. "We did _A Midsummer's Night Dream_ and _Romeo & Juliet _my first year, and then _Macbeth_ and _Twelfth Night_ the next year. This past summer, we did _Hamlet_ and _King Lear_ , which, admittedly, was very heavy for a seventeen-year-old."

I haven't stopped staring. I can't bring myself to do anything other than _look at her_.

"Wow," my Daddy says.

"I can imagine," my Dad says, looking impressed. "And you do these willingly?"

Quinn nods, perking up slightly. "I love literature," she says. "And, I mean, those works are only from my Shakespeare class. I take other classes as well. The Classics, of course. Straight poetry. Other plays. African Lit. The works."

She looks so animated; it's adorable.

"Is this what you're interested in studying when you graduate?" my Dad asks, and Quinn's face falls.

She presses her lips together and leans back. I can tell she's thinking about Finn, about college and their future that probably won't transpire, and my Dad's question has brought it all back to the forefront of her mind. I shoot him a glare, even though it's not his fault. Though, I did warn him not to ask about _things_.

I place a hand on Quinn's knee, offering her comfort. "It's still a while to go," I say. "We have time."

"Of course, dear."

We get back to our pancakes after an awkward silence, my Daddy once again complimenting Quinn on her recipe. She's quieter now, but she still blushes and mumbles a quiet _Thank you_. I realise belatedly that my hand is still on her knee - I don't know how I've managed to eat pancakes with one hand for so long - and take it back, fighting my own blush.

"So, what do you girls have planned for the day?" my Daddy asks, and Quinn looks to me.

"We'll probably hang around here," I say, answering for us both. I don't want her going anywhere. "Are you and Dad still going to the Farmer's Market?"

He nods. "Do you think you'll be all right for lunch?"

I nod. "We'll probably order in," I tell him. "Or, I'll just make Quinn cook."

Quinn laughs beside me, and I throw her an amused look.

After we've eaten, the table is cleared and my Dad and I do the dishes. Quinn and I go back upstairs to my room and watch another movie. It's a thriller this time because I can watch them only in the daytime. She clutches onto me, and I clutch onto her, which would have been weird for both of us before yesterday. It's amazing to think the most physical contact I've had in the last month - besides my dads - is none other than Quinn Fabray.

After our second movie, my stomach starts to grumble.

Quinn looks at me, clearly amused.

"Shut up," I mutter as I get up and saunter downstairs, fully aware that Quinn is following me. I go straight into the kitchen, but she stops at the fish tank between the living room and kitchen, bending to study the various fish.

"Okay," I say, shuffling through the various takeout menus I pick up off the top of the microwave. "Order in or do you feel like going out for lunch?" I ask.

Quinn looks up from the fish tank, her expression adorable in its childish fascination. Who knew goldfish could be so interesting? "I could go for a drive," she says. "Maybe order over the phone, pick it up and come back here? I spied a hell of a lot of _One Tree Hill_ in your room, and I'm down for a marathon."

I grin at her before waving her over. "What tickles your fancy? Pizza? Thai? Indian?"

We have a small little debate over the nutritious value of our choices but ultimately decide that it's Saturday afternoon, she's newly single, and we're going to spoil ourselves. _Well, as much as a vegan can_ , she comments, and I shoot her a scandalised look.

After lazing about for ten minutes, I go upstairs to grab my purse and keys, and put on my shoes and a hoodie. We flipped a coin and, apparently, I'm the one going into the restaurant to get the food. Which is why Quinn intends to climb into the passenger's side of my car with only socks on.

 _My_ socks, mind you.

When I get back downstairs, she's standing in the entrance foyer, staring into space. It's a sure sign a breakdown is coming, but the sound of the squeak on the third stair brings her back and she practically snaps to attention.

"You okay?" I ask.

"I have a super power, you know?" she says in response, and I raise my eyebrows to prompt her to continue. "I can look you dead in the face while you're talking and not hear a thing you're saying."

I just stare at her.

When her face breaks out into one of those dazzling smiles, I can't help but return it. Huffing in pretend annoyance, I close the space between us, reach for her hand and tug. We have places to be, and I'm starving.


	3. three

**Chapter Three**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _fall apart.  
_ _please_ _just, fall apart.  
_ _open your mouth.  
_ _and_ _hurt.  
_ _hurt the size of everything it is._

 _._

Rachel drives in every way that I don't: carefully. She does all her checks, signals for everything and doesn't even get angry when other cars cut us off. In fact, _I'm_ the one who rages at them with choice words and a wave of my hand. She just looks at me with a smile and I duck my head, embarrassed.

"Cars are the only place where the _real_ curses come out," I tell her, absently reaching to turn the knob on the radio, searching for a suitable station. "Outside of cars, nothing. Inside, well, that's an entirely different story."

"I should get you in cars more often then," she says, and then quickly looks away from me.

I frown for a beat before I smile. "Would you find a cussing Quinn Fabray amusing?"

"Among other things, yes."

I fall silent as I keep turning the knob until a song I recognise comes on. It's just a song, a little poppy for my taste, maybe, but the easy beat and pointless words make me feel a little lighter. Rachel starts to hum along first, and then she starts singing. A few seconds later, we're both belting out the lyrics to the chorus, dancing in our seats and giving onlookers quite the eyeful. It's obvious Rachel doesn't care, and I'm surprised by the fact I don't either.

We sing along as she drives, somewhat blissful in our youth. I sing in my car when I'm driving alone, or when I'm with the Unholy Trinity or with Finn. All three times are to decidedly different types of music, but nothing has felt as freeing as it feels to sing utter garbage with Rachel Berry. Huh?

I'm not surprised she knows all the lyrics to all the songs that come on. In fact, I'd be more surprised if she didn't. When she pulls into the parking lot of the restaurant, I lower the volume to help her concentrate. She finds a spot easily enough - the lot is pretty empty - and turns to look at me.

"Are you sure you don't want to come in with me?" she asks, and there's a teasing lilt to her voice.

I arch an eyebrow. "I'm sure."

"Just checking," she murmurs, before she reaches for her purse and starts to get out.

I grab her wrist. "Wait," I say, fumbling for my own purse in the side of the door. "I have money."

She looks at me for the longest time, almost daring me to say something more. When I don't, she smirks. Rachel Berry can smirk, people. "The only way you get to contribute to the purchase of this meal is if you come inside with me."

Well, then, I guess Rachel is paying.

She cocks her head smugly, and then climbs out. I'm left to sit with my arms folded across my chest and a slight pout on my face. She finds it immensely amusing as she disappears into the restaurant. She's gone for about ten minutes before she emerges, a huge smile on her face and an even bigger parcel in her one hand. She waves at me, and I wave back like a kid. I don't know why, but I suddenly _do_ feel like a little kid. Maybe it's the childlike innocence of Rachel Berry or just the way she looks at the world. I don't know, and I don't care.

She pops into the bakery next door for a few minutes, and she's positively beaming when she comes back out with an additional box. My eyes track her movement as she walks back to the car and climbs in. I take the parcels from her and set them down on the floor between my legs.

I want to ask her about the box from the bakery but I apparently have more patience than she does. It's obvious she's waiting for me to ask, but I won't budge. She's going to break first, I just know it. And, frankly, I'm surprised she lasts as long as she does. She's just shifted the car into Reverse, starts to redo her checks before she visibly deflates.

"Aren't you going to ask me what's in the box?" she asks, pouting slightly. I have to stop myself from finding it endearing.

"What box?" I ask, pure innocence.

Her eyes narrow. "Are you messing with me, Fabray?"

"Definitely."

She huffs. "Don't you want to know?"

"Do you want to tell me?"

"Why are you like this?" she whines, and I reach out to bop her nose with my forefinger.

"Come on, let's go home, and you can surprise me," I say, and we both go still at the sound of my words. I just called her house _home_. Huh? "Um, you know what I mean," I add, belatedly and awkwardly.

She smiles at me before redoing her checks, and then backing out of the spot. We're happily on our way when she speaks again. "I mean, aren't you even a little curious?"

"I'm _very_ curious," I assure her. "I'm also curious as to how much running I'm going to have to do to burn off whatever goodies you're intending to tempt me with. Sylvester's weigh-ins are not a joke, Rachel."

"We're self-soothing."

I raise my eyebrows. "I know I am, but why are _you_ self-soothing?"

"I'm nothing if not a supportive friend, Quinn Fabray," she says with an air of elitism, lifting her nose slightly.

My insides feel warm. "We're friends?" I'm irritated by how small my voice suddenly sounds, and I look away from her face as I wait for her response. I'm not disappointed.

"I've always _wanted_ to be your friend," she says. "I know our relationship has been... interesting, but I've always wanted us to _try_. Maybe we're not the kind of friends we can be yet, but I do believe we're friends." She glances over at me, smiling gently. "And plus, only my friends get to wear my Coldplay t-shirt."

I look down at the t-shirt I'm wearing. I grabbed it from her closet this morning, and I distinctly remember her eyes widening, though she said nothing. "It's a cool shirt," I tell her. "Do you know I was also at this concert?"

"Oh yeah?"

I hum. "We went, uh, a group of us," I explain. "Me, Santana, Britt, Puck and..." I trail off. She knows whom I've left off the list. "It was nice," I say, recalling the memory. "We got there nice and early for the pre-show partying. Puck managed to get us some drinks, and we sang along to the music and danced until the stars in the sky were shining bright." I get a little lost in the memory and have to catch myself. "We actually took a train to the stadium, which required us to take a train back, but the last one was leaving at eleven o'clock."

I watch her face to see the moment realisation hits. "Oh, that's horrible."

"The show wasn't anywhere near over by then, and we had to leave during _Yellow_ , which is probably my favourite Coldplay song, ever. It was so sad walking out of there with the music blaring. We were yelling at the top of our lungs and people were looking at us as if we'd properly lost it. I guess, maybe, in some way, we had." I sigh. "We barely made it for the train. We had to run, and I remember just making it inside. The doors closed right behind me, even clipping my jacket. It was quite the night."

She's looking at me with the softest expression now, and I'm surprised she holds my gaze for as long as she does. She's driving, after all.

I clear my throat when she looks away. "Who did you go with?" I ask.

"Kurt, Tina and Mercedes," she answers easily. "We all have crazy crushes on Chris Martin."

"Understandable."

"My dads dropped us off and picked us up, so there wasn't any drinking involved," she admits, and I catch sight of her slight blush. "But it was still amazing. I mean, I know Coldplay isn't exactly part of my immediate singing repertoire."

"They're everyone's repertoire, Berry," I comment.

She giggles. "What I mean is that a Coldplay song isn't usually my go-to, but damn if I don't love myself some _Fix You_."

"Is that your favourite?"

She shakes her head. "It's probably a toss-up between _The Scientist_ and _Paradise_."

"Are you only saying _Paradise_ because you know you're somewhere in the music video?" I ask, knowingly. I harbour a certain love for the song too because, during the concert, Chris Martin informed us they were filming footage that may or may not go into the music video for the particular song. I'm sure if you look into the crowds depicted in the video and squint your eyes just right; you'd see my face.

She bites her bottom lip. "Maybe."

I just shake my head as I adjust the volume on the radio once more, and we sing all the way back ho - to Rachel's house. We wait in the car until the current song finishes, the decision unspoken but mutual. It's almost comical the way she quickly turns it off as soon as the last bar is done. I get it, I do. If we even heard the first note of the next song; we'd have to sit through the entire thing, and I'm starving.

Once we're inside, we go straight to the kitchen. I get the plates while she unpacks the food. She dishes out while I pour us drinks, and then we descend on the living room. With her fathers out for the afternoon, we have the television to ourselves and she shifts through the channels, trying to find us something suitable to watch. Apparently, _One Tree Hill_ has been postponed for when we're back in her bedroom.

I've been told I'm, once again, spending the night. I don't even bother to put up a fight.

Finally, Rachel settles on a _Lifetime_ movie.

"I'm a complete sucker for these types of movies," she explains, glancing at me nervously. "This one is not a romance," she adds, looking worried.

"It's fine," I assure her, and we settle into a comfortable silence, the only sounds coming from the television and our mouths. Rachel's spring rolls crunch, she hums and my excess soy sauce drips. It tastes so good and it takes a significant look from Rachel to realise I'm actually moaning.

I blush, and she just smiles. How embarrassing is that?

We don't say words to each other until we're both finished eating. I suppose it's one sure way to make sure Rachel Berry doesn't talk: feed her. I smile to myself when I think it, and I get a curious look out of her.

"What?" she asks.

I just shrug as I get to my feet and clear our plates. "Do you want a refill?" I ask, gesturing towards her almost-empty glass.

She beams at me. "Yes, please."

"Such a kid," I tease, shifting both plates to one hand, and lifting her glass to take back to the kitchen. I can't help feeling relaxed right now, warm in a way I've never felt in my own house. It's the reason why I stopped in front of this house, isn't it? I could _feel_ its life and its warmth and its love. It drew me in, and now here I am, enjoying the safety of easy company and genuine interest.

I mean, it's _really_ nothing like my house. Between work and general disregard for the fact she has a daughter, my mother is just never home. She goes out to parties, goes on work trips and visits my sister; all in an effort to stay out of the house, I guess. To stay away from _me_. Because, apparently, I did something so horrendous that she can barely look at me. She might have let me back into the house, but -

"Quinn?"

I turn sharply, to find Rachel standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "Hmm?"

"Are you okay?" she asks. "You've been gone a while."

I frown. "What?"

"Have you been standing there the whole time?"

I glance down. I've still got the dishes in my hands and I'm standing in the middle of the kitchen, stock-still. "Oh," I sound. "I think I... got lost... in my head."

Her look turns sympathetic and she moves towards me, taking the dishes out of my hands and setting them on the counter. Before I know it, she has her arms around my neck, holding me flush against her. It surprises me for a moment before I relax into her embrace, wrapping my own arms around her waist.

"We haven't hugged enough today," she whispers against my neck, and I can't help my smile.

"No, we haven't," I murmur.

Her grip tightens slightly. "You smell like me."

I laugh. "Well, I did use your shampoo this morning," I point out, and she squirms. Because she's ticklish. I remember this very interesting fact. My hands slide along her back until they're resting at her sides, my fingers twitching, ready.

"Quinn," she says warily, her body tensing as if she knows what's about to happen.

Oh, she definitely doesn't.

I wait a beat before I begin my attack, my fingers pressing down beneath her ribs and eliciting the kind of laughter from her tiny body that could and would put so many to shame. She tries to get away from me but I follow, my own laughter helping to fill the kitchen with _sounds_. I'm relentless with my attack as she tries to fight me off, and I match her step for step, not giving her a chance to breathe.

This is how her fathers find us, Rachel howling in laughter and me practically crawling into her.

I freeze at the sight of them at the same time Rachel sucks in a breath, quickly kisses my cheek and then disappears from the kitchen, leaving me blushing like a ripened tomato. They both smirk knowingly and then shuffle into the kitchen with their groceries. While I see to the dishes, they start to pack items away and tell me about their trip. It's so easy and comfortable, that I worry if maybe this family is special and not just the norm. Even Finn's home isn't like this. Don't get me wrong, his mom is great and everything, but there's never been this kind of energy in their house. Even after Burt and Kurt Hummel joined their family.

I refill Rachel's glass and take it back into the living room - _I'm going to get you back, Fabray_ \- before returning to the kitchen to help stock the fridge with the fresh fruits and vegetables. I kind of just want something to do.

"What's your favourite fruit, Quinn?" Hiram asks me.

"Probably pineapple," I tell him.

"I'm a fan of the berries, myself," he says, which makes me laugh. "No, really, surname aside, I love strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, all the berries."

"Good to know," LeRoy comments, and I throw him an amused look. "What do you want for dinner?" he asks, his eyes on me. "Hiram was thinking about some tomato-based gnocchi, and you and I can go loco with the cheese while they suffer. How does that sound?"

"Sounds perfect," I tell him. "Do you need any help?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Do you actually _like_ cooking, Quinn?"

I chew the inside of my cheek. "I don't _not_ like it," I admit. "My mom isn't that good at it, so I'm generally in charge of my own meals," I explain. "You can pick up a thing or two from almost setting your house on fire a couple of times."

LeRoy smiles in understanding. I think he knows what I'm not saying, and I'm immensely relieved he doesn't push for more information. I cook for myself because nobody else is going to. "Well, Hiram here has _actually_ set fire to our stove before."

"That was one time," Hiram protests, shooting a wounded look at his husband. "And we were in college."

Before LeRoy can respond, Rachel sidles into the room, moving to sit at the breakfast nook next to me. She looks a little sleepy, her eyes droopy and her lower lip jutting out just that little bit. I bump her with my shoulder.

"Is the movie done?" I ask.

She nods, a lazy smile spreading across her face. "They get to be a family."

I meet her gaze. "Do you want to take a nap?"

She nods again. "I don't want to leave you," she mumbles, stifling a yawn. "Bad... host."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Only if you want to."

"I want to."

Her face splits into a grin and she slides off the stool. Her hand reaches for mine and, before I can get a word out to her fathers, she's tugging and dragging me out of the kitchen. For someone who looks as sleepy as she does; she sure does have a lot of strength. It's a good thing I _let_ her pull me up the stairs to her bedroom. Once inside, she shuts the door with her foot and practically collapses on her bed, face first. So dramatic, this one.

"At least get under the covers," I tell her.

She groans once before turning her head to look at me. "It's a nap, Quinn. We use throw blankets for naps."

I raise my eyebrows. "Forgive me for not knowing the proper etiquette for napping."

She waves her hand in dismissal. Forgiveness? "Come lie down. Bring the throw from the windowsill."

"You get bossy when you're tired," I quip, but I still do as I'm told. I have a _side_ to Rachel's bed now, and I climb on - above the covers - and lay the throw over both of us. It's a little small, so she moves close enough for me to feel the warmth of her and automatically reaches for one of my hands.

She's asleep within a minute. I stay awake for a while, just listening to her breathing and trying not to think about how screwed up this entire weekend started... and then _now_. If I allow myself to think about Finn, I know I'm just going to cry. If I think about my mother, I doubt I'll feel much better.

For the first time, I wonder who knows about the - the breakup. I suck in a breath. I mean, from my end, the only person who knows is Rachel. Finn probably told Puck, which kind of means that the entire school will probably know by Monday. I suspect Jacob Ben Israel will post about it on his sinister blog. He'll probably get so much sick satisfaction out of it. My rate of breathing is rapidly increasing and I need to keep a handle on it before I wake Rachel with my panic.

Everyone is going to know, and it's going to be awful.

Sighing tiredly, I close my eyes and drift off to a place where everything is simple and nothing is complicated. It's fitting it exists only in my dreams, and it isn't surprising to me to find out Rachel Berry is there.

* * *

I wake to the delicious smell of cooking pasta. Rachel is no longer beside me, her bedroom door is wide open and I can hear voices floating up the stairs. If this entire setup was designed to get me up, it's working. I roll off the bed, stretch my limbs, visit the bathroom and then head downstairs.

Conversation slows when I hit that third stair, but it picks right back up when they realise I'm not some serial killer as I enter the kitchen. Rachel is perched on a stool at the breakfast nook, Hiram across from her as he cleans a pineapple, and LeRoy in his usual spot in front of the stove.

"There she is!" LeRoy exclaims. "What happened to my help, Missy?"

I grin bashfully, ducking my head. "Sorry."

He waves a hand, telling me, unnecessarily, that he's joking.

Rachel pinches the fabric of my t-shirt between her thumb and forefinger, and pulls me to stand closer to her. "How did you sleep?" she asks, her voice low and sincere. "Any dreams?" she asks. "Last night's sleep was a little restless."

I blink. If I wasn't actually having this conversation, I'd find it extremely strange. Rachel Berry is asking me about my sleep, because she _knows_ I had a restless one the night before, because she was in bed with me. Huh?

"Uh, I guess it was fine," I say, massaging the back of my neck with a nervous hand. "I didn't dream about... him."

"That's good,' she says, releasing the fabric of the t-shirt. I feel like I can breathe again, which is just ridiculous because - it just is. I mean, let's be serious for a moment and backtrack to the moment I stopped breathing. When was that? Why didn't I even realise I wasn't breathing? Isn't it supposed to be an involuntary thing?

"Quinn?" I hear someone say.

Then: "She's doing it again."

"Doing what?"

I feel fingers on my forearm, and I snap to attention, my gaze suddenly meeting Rachel's.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," I breathe back.

"Welcome back," she says sheepishly. "Where did you go?"

"I don't know," I admit. "Somewhere. Nowhere." I just about manage a smile. "I'll take you with me one day."

"I look forward to it," she says, and I can tell she means it. There's a sudden flash of determination in her eyes that catches me off guard but, damn, her eyes are soulful. They're truthful eyes, profound in their chestnut colour and penetrating in their profoundness.

A throat clears, and I immediately look away from Rachel, flushing instantly. Was I just staring at her? And so blatantly? When I do look away, Hiram has his eyes on me, an easy smile on his face.

"Pineapple?" he asks, gesturing to the freshly diced fruit in front of him. "Or is this for dessert?" he questions, looking to LeRoy for an answer.

"It's going to have to be dessert because dinner is ready," LeRoy says.

I don't know why I feel unsettled. I mean, I literally just went to some place in my head while I was in the same room as three other people. That can't be healthy or normal. I step back when Rachel slides off the stool, but she doesn't let me go far. Her arm slips around my waist and she brings me close against her side, resting her head on my shoulder.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks quietly.

"I - I don't know," I confess, my voice catching.

"Do you want to talk about it now, or can you get through dinner?"

"Dinner," I assure her.

She squeezes me once, and then we join her fathers at the kitchen table. Admittedly, it takes me a while to get comfortable again but Rachel and her fathers make it easy. They're just so easy going and the kind of self-deprecating that both settles and unsettles you. As the dinner progresses, I feel Rachel's hand drop to my knee a few times, her silent way of comforting me without overwhelming me. Who even knew Rachel Berry had a _silent way_?

Hiram braves bringing up Shakespeare again, and I relax into my story about _King Lear_. "The way the class works is that we read it through Act by Act, with the lecturer," I explain. "She'll act like a translator, really, with her PowerPoint explanations. We cover the understanding of the play as we read, but we also tackle the various themes. Before we even started reading this past summer, our lecturer made sure to remind us it would be a tragedy." I can't help my slight smile at the memory. "And that, by the end, pretty much everyone would be dead. She repeated it so many times: everyone was going to die, and we should prepare ourselves." I chuckle. "She wasn't wrong."

Hiram lets out a snort. "No, I don't imagine she was," he says. "The death toll is rather atrocious, bodies just dropping in every scene."

I nod. "I enjoyed it though," I find myself saying. "I mean, the subject did hit a little close to home - father and daughter relationships are still a foreign thing to me - but I do believe I learned a lot from it. It's difficult not knowing who to trust, particularly when you're not sure you can trust yourself."

Hiram opens his mouth to say something but snaps it shut a moment later.

Rachel's hand is still on my knee, so she gives it a gentle squeeze, and I give her a grateful look.

LeRoy steers us back to safer topics - dolphins and leaking taps - and we see out the rest of dinner without incident. It's delicious; far superior to anything I could've conjured up had I been at my house alone.

"What are you two planning for tonight?" LeRoy eventually asks, and I look to Rachel.

She clears her throat. "Just staying in," she says. "We have a _One Tree Hill_ marathon on the agenda; possibly a deep meaningful conversation, probably some crying and definitely the consumption of copious amounts of junk food."

Her fathers just stare at her.

LeRoy recovers first. "Well, okay then."

I just smile at him. It seems he's well-versed in the topics he should and shouldn't dive deeper into when it comes to Rachel Berry. Years of experience and all that. By the time dinner is over, we're back to dolphins. Hiram and I clear the table while Rachel and LeRoy continue their discussion over coffee. I worry about giving Rachel coffee so late in the evening, but we _do_ have a marathon coming up.

Hiram and I fall into a simple rhythm as we do the dishes, and I feel the urge to tell him something, even though the words seem to be failing me. I'm drying, so I have to concentrate considerably less on what I'm doing than he does.

"Say, Hiram?"

He doesn't look at me, which I appreciate. "Hmm?"

"I want to say thank you," I start, wiping a plate clean. "For, essentially, letting me live with you for two days. For being so kind to me, even though you have every right to have your reservations about me. I know I wouldn't know how to handle this situation if I were you, and I know I don't deserve it but thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt." I take a breath. "That being said, I _do_ want to be Rachel's friend, if she'll let me. I still have things to apologise for, and even more to make up for but I'm willing. I truly am.

"I've never really had a real friend before. Not like I could with Rachel, and not one who didn't become my friend because we were forced together or because they wanted something from me. I realise it sounds selfish of me, but she's made it clear to me on numerous occasions that she wants to be my friend too. I don't know if I'll be all that good at it but I'd like to try. She's willing to let me, and I want to assure you I'm going to do what I can to make sure I don't let her down."

He glances at me. "Why are you telling me this?"

I blink. "Because, despite LeRoy's intimidating size and hard eyes, it's you I'm more afraid of."

"Why is that?" he asks, and he sounds genuinely curious.

"I think it's the eyes," I confess. "Despite the fact they're the same size and shape as Rachel's, they also seem to carry the same pain I've carelessly inflicted on her in years past."

He shifts to face me, abandoning his task. "It's something you recognise?"

I nod.

"Because you see it in the mirror." It isn't a question, so I don't respond. It's answer enough for him anyway. "LeRoy and I meant what we said, Quinn," he says. "You are always welcome here."

"Thank you."

We finish the dishes in silence. I'm aware of LeRoy coming in at some point, and then Rachel. I feel a presence behind me and then hands on my hips. There's a puff of breath against my neck.

"Are you almost done?" Rachel asks, peering over my shoulder, and I fumble with the dish in my hand.

"Almost," I manage to say.

LeRoy seems to take pity on me. "Why don't you two head on up? Hiram and I can finish up here."

I almost want to scream _no_. Why, though, beats me. Still, I step away from the kitchen sink and smile at him. "Thank you, LeRoy."

"Sure thing, Quinn."

Rachel suddenly grabs my hand and drags me out of the kitchen. She likes to _wo_ manhandle me, apparently, but I'm honestly not complaining. I have to get used to Rachel in this way, the same way she has to get used to me and my ways. We have things to learn about each other, it seems, and I meant all I said to Hiram. I'm ready and willing.

"Okay," she says once we get to her room; "game plan?"

I smile at her. "Set up episode one of OTH, climb into bed and try not to break down when you remember who Lucas ends up with in the end."

"It _is_ a travesty, isn't it?"

I nod.

"Sounds like a good plan. Let's get to it."

It takes us a few minutes for us to get settled. We leave the junk food for now because we've just eaten dinner and get under the covers to watch one of the greatest shows ever made. I mean, of course there's the age-old debate of _The OC_ versus _One Tree Hill_ , but I personally love them both, even if I'm seemingly more invested in the teenagers of Tree Hill.

I get through two and half episodes before I lose it. I don't know why - maybe it's Nathan's aggressive bullying or his attempt to manipulate Haley, or maybe it's Lucas pining for Peyton and Brooke starting to like Lucas - but something hits a little too close to home and I suddenly get _really_ emotional, and the floodgates open.

I fall apart. There's no other way to say it.

Rachel immediately pauses the show and draws me into her arms. She's practically holding me together as I feel whatever's inside of me break free. I cry and I cry, my body shaking and my breathing unsteady. My nose runs and my face hurts. I must look a sight, but I keep my face hidden away.

Her hands are on my back, rubbing soothing circles over my t-shirt. She's saying words into my hair, and I just clutch onto her tighter, unwilling to let go. Too scared of what will happen if I do.

"He said he doesn't want me," I cry, my words barely making sense to my own ears. "He doesn't want me, Rachel. He wants something different. He wants _more_."

I don't know how she understands me - maybe girls just universally understand other girls' cry-talk - but she responds. "He's an idiot, Quinn."

"But what if he's not?" I ask. "What if he's right? What if I'm just some cold-hearted bitch who's never going to find love and die alone?"

"He's an idiot," she repeats in a steely tone. "And he's definitely not right, Quinn. You aren't cold-hearted - I thought the curses stayed in the car - and you're not going to die alone."

"The room is spinning; I got confused."

She breathes into my hair. "I don't know what's going through Finn's mind right now," she says. "I don't even truly know if what he said and what you understood are the same things. But, what I do know is that only an idiot of epic proportions would _ever_ decide he could do any better that _you_." I start to protest but she quiets me. "No, the Berry is talking now."

I have to smile at that.

"If he can _choose_ to hurt you like this, then he doesn't deserve you, Quinn," she says. "I'll admit that I've never truly been in love the way you have, and I've never been through the things you and Finn have, but I do know there are things that are not okay, and one of those things is _hurting you_. If he had a problem, he should have spoken to you first, and I think he's being selfish."

I suck in a breath.

"He's my friend," she says. "Of course, I care about him, but, yeah, he's being selfish. Which isn't a surprising characteristic of his, as we both know." She's alluding to a certain picnic date in the auditorium the two of them went on when he was still _my_ boyfriend. I assume there are other things as well. "The two of you have spent years building something, and it's not okay with me that he's just decided to throw it away because he's convinced he can find something better. Because he can't. It's impossible. There is nobody as talented and beautiful and amazing as you, and that's all the certainty I could muster up in just these two days."

And now I have the hiccups. "Rachel," I squeak.

"I'm not just saying these things to make you feel better, Quinn - though, it's a bonus if they do - I'm merely telling you what I believe to be the truth. So, you're going to cry yourself out tonight, take an Advil and then face tomorrow as the strong, independent woman you've always been in my eyes, okay?"

I sniffle.

"Quinn? Okay?"

I ball the fabric of her t-shirt in my fists. "Okay."

"Good."

Her hands are moving again, and I cry _again_ for all her words, all my thoughts and all the _feelings_ Finn doesn't think I have. When I really am cried out, I'm exhausted and my yawn alerts us both to that fact. She pulls back to look at my face, and stops me from trying to hide it.

"Hey," she soothes, pushing some hair off my face. "What did I say? You're beautiful, Quinn Fabray, puffy eyes and all. It's actually not fair at all."

"Sorry," I murmur, and I'm saying it for so many things.

"I told you not to do that," she says, pretending to chastise me. "Now, do you want to get some sleep?"

I nod dumbly. She places a gentle kiss on my forehead, and then climbs out of bed. I watch her disappear into the bathroom before I survey my own emotional and physical state. I feel so painfully raw that, if I were pushed any further, I do believe I'd break. Which is saying a lot, because Quinn Fabray is not a girl who breaks easily. Despite whatever I feel about my father, he _did_ raise a daughter who doesn't crumble easily.

And yet, here we are.

I slowly sit up, fight off a wave of dizziness, and drink more than half a bottle of water. I'm exhausted beyond belief, really. I feel as if I've just suffered through a ten-hour Cheerios practice. We had one of those during cheer camp the summer before junior year. I threw up twice and passed out once during that torture festival, and I feel a little like that right now. Though, admittedly, nothing can compare to giving birth.

When Rachel finally comes back out, she moves to stand in front of me and studies me, as if she's checking for chinks in my armour. I'm just surprised it's still standing. I'm surprised _I_ am.

Rachel runs a hand through my hair, smoothing it down. "Bathroom's all yours," she says. "I'm going to run down to say goodnight to my dads. Do you need anything?"

I blink. "Include me in your goodnight?"

"That's a given."

I stand. "Can I get a hug?"

"Always."

When she goes downstairs, I go into the bathroom and _oh God_ , I'm a troll. My eyes, my hair. Is Rachel blind or something? Maybe _she's_ the one who needs glasses. _Jesus_. I make quick work of getting ready, using the toilet, brushing my teeth and taking out my contacts. Tonight has been quite the night, hasn't it?

Rachel is back in bed when I emerge, and I have absolutely no qualms crawling in beside her and shifting close enough so I can see her clearly. We're both lying on our sides, and I can see her studying my face. Maybe she's amused by my unfocused eyes.

"Do you think you'll be able to drop me off at my house early tomorrow?" I ask softly, just waiting.

Admittedly, she looks a little distracted by something. "How early are we talking?"

"Before seven?"

She raises her eyebrows in question.

"I have to get ready for church," I explain. "It starts at eight."

Her gaze meets mine in the dim of the room. "Okay," she says, a small frown on her face.

"What's wrong?" I find myself asking, my fingers sliding against hers as I interlace them in the space between us.

"It's nothing," she says, but my silence prompts more words from her. "I don't know. I guess, I mean, I suppose I don't actually want you to go yet," she finally explains. "I thought, maybe, I'd have more time or something equally ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous," I assure her. "I'm just going to church, Berry. I'll be able to grab a change of clothes, get my homework, and then I'll probably, definitely, be back here to annoy you with my numerous breakdowns and space-outs."

"You don't annoy me, Quinn," she says.

"Really?" I ask, and it's a genuine question. "Because I would think you'd be sick of me by now. I've done nothing but be in your space all weekend."

"Really," she assures me. "Believe me, if I had a problem with it, you would've been the first to know. And I like having you in my space. I know I talk a good game, but it can get lonely here, and you're not half-bad."

I let out a breathy laugh. "Well, thank you."

"You're very welcome."

I shift closer, burying my face between her shoulder and her pillow. "Thank you," I say again, but it comes out muffled by the pillow. I feel a tentative hand on my upper arm, which slides over my shoulder to my back, and she pulls me even closer until I'm practically enveloped in her warm embrace. I shift until I'm breathing into her neck, my own free hand moving to her hip, and then around her waist.

"You're very welcome, Quinn," she says again.

They're the last words I hear before sleep claims me.


	4. four

**Chapter Four**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _can we speak in flowers.  
_ _it will be easier for me to understand._

 _._

It's strange having Quinn gone, and I think my dads feel it as well. I mean, it isn't as if she's noisy or constantly reminding you she's there when she is. It's more to do with the quiet of her presence and the silence of her words. It's a little disconcerting missing a person's essence, if you ask me.

It isn't the same as knowing she's just asleep upstairs, because she's actually gone now. Left the house. Outside somewhere, probably saying the Lord's Prayer and being the type of good Christian girl who still goes to one of God's houses despite the emotional ringer she's just been through. I suppose, I admire that about her. Well, I apparently admire a lot of things about her but I'm refusing to acknowledge that.

When I dropped her off at her house this morning, she was back in her green dress, looking all kinds of perfect for seven o'clock in the morning and I'm still a little irritated about it. Why do turtles have to be so cute? She was quiet, a little guarded and it was surprisingly unsettling as we drove the short distance from my house to hers. She had a restless sleep. I know, because I woke up several times to painful whimpers and flailing hands as she struggled through accepting that her once-lovely boyfriend decided he didn't want her anymore.

I suppose the obvious reason for whatever I'm feeling is that I miss her. And I'm also a little worried. Maybe Quinn just isn't a morning person or something. It's just, well, I haven't heard from her since she disappeared into her cold and dark house, and I've barely been able to concentrate on anything else. I've tried, believe me. I did vocal exercises, worked on my World Geography and Spanish homework and even painted my nails. Nothing's worked to stop me from obsessing over my very silent and empty message inbox.

It's almost lunch time and I've been hiding in my room for the past three hours, trying and failing to distract myself from thinking about Quinn and her possible breakdowns or space-outs. I mean, of course she'll probably handle herself in a different way when she's in public. I _offered_ to go to church with her, which made her smile but she politely declined. She said she'd be fine and I believed her.

So why hasn't she texted me back?

I'm about to send out a search party when my Dad shouts from downstairs. "Rachel! Lunch is ready!"

I sigh dramatically, absently glancing at my decidedly quiet phone. "Coming," I shout back, and then heave myself up out of my desk chair. I run a hand through my hair and then stomp my way down the stairs like the insolent child I am. I have a complaint about Quinn's absence on the tip of my tongue as I enter the kitchen but I stop dead in my tracks when I spy none other than Quinn Fabray sitting at the breakfast nook, a picture of calm perfection.

My mouth drops open.

"Hello, Rachel," she says, smiling at me, and I all I can really do is stare at her. She's wearing a pale pink dress now, with a grey cardigan casually draped over her shoulders. Her hair is hanging loose, none of her curls out of place and her gentle eyes are on me.

"Quinn," I breathe, stepping forward. "You're here?"

"I am."

"Are you okay? How was church? Did anything happen? What are you doing here? Why didn't you respond to my texts? I was worried. I thought we discussed this, Fabray; you're supposed to - "

"Rachel," my Daddy interrupts my rant. "Let the poor girl speak."

My attention hasn't even drifted away from Quinn's face. She looks a little bemused but her eyes are kind. "Hi," I say.

She slides off the stool and stands up straight. After a beat, she arches an eyebrow, and I immediately step into her embrace. We _definitely_ haven't hugged enough _today_. I relax into the hug, absently breathing her in. She smells like Quinn again, which is kind of a relief, I suppose. Though, I have to admit I was enjoying the fact she was wearing my clothes and smelling like me, which is an entirely loaded thought that I don't wish to unpack at this time.

She pulls away first, and cups my cheeks with her hands, her gaze meeting mine. "Let's see," she starts, visibly thinking and stealing the breath from my lungs. "I do believe I'm okay. Church was good, somewhat enlightening. Nothing of true significance happened. I'm here for lunch and homework and _you_. I didn't reply because I wanted to give you some space. In hindsight, your reaction to my silence has proven that was not my smartest decision."

I grumble my agreement with her last assessment. Then: "Some of those answers are terribly vague, Fabray," I point out.

Her eyes shift to the left, where my dads are pretending not to gawk at our exchange, and I understand that we'll talk about it later. I sigh, receive another hug for my troubles, and then we sit down to eat. Quinn talks to my dads mostly. I don't think she's actually ignoring me or anything drastic like that, but she looks my way a total of seven times during the entire meal. I count; sue me.

"And what to you two have planned for today?" my Daddy asks.

Quinn doesn't look at me before she responds to him, which is different but not entirely unwanted. "I'd like to take Rachel somewhere," she says before she looks at me. "If that's okay with you, of course."

I just nod.

Quinn looks at my dads. "We won't be long. I promise I'll have her back before sunset, and we'll do _all_ our homework."

My Daddy laughs, even as my Dad grins.

"You two have a lovely afternoon."

After we've eaten our fill, Quinn and I clear the table and do the dishes. I sometimes get the feeling she enjoys doing them, though I'll never mention that to her. I'll wait for her to tell me her thoughts on the topic. She _looks_ like she has things to talk about.

Once we're done, Quinn follows me upstairs so I can change into something a little bit more presentable.

"Where are we going?" I ask, as I walk into my closet and she settles on the edge of my bed.

"I can't tell you that," she says.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from asking my burning questions. "Okay, answer me this then: what should I wear?"

"Anything you want, Rachel."

I stick my head out the door to look at her. "Please can you give me some direction? I don't do vague very well, and I might have an anxiety attack if you keep up with this mystery. I mean, I like surprises as much as the next person but all of this is kind of - "

"Rachel," she interrupts as she stands and walks towards me. "Breathe. Just breathe. There we go." She steps into my closet with me and places her hands on my shoulders. "The last thing I want is for you to be anxious over this. I just want to take you to a place I go to when I need to think. It's really nothing special, but I just wanted to do something with you that didn't involve watching TV or crying."

"Or both," I add.

She smiles. "Exactly." Her eyes drift past my face. "Maybe just jeans and a top," she offers. "Maybe a sweater. We'll be outside."

I nod.

"I'll leave you to it then," she says, and then walks out of the closet. Five minutes later, I walk out as well and find Quinn sitting at my desk. For a moment, I panic at the sight of her on my laptop - oh no, what is she doing? - but she smiles at me. "Sorry," she says. "I was just looking up this _YouTube_ link Britt sent me last night. It's some complicated dance move she wants to incorporate into our routine for the Cheerios."

I just nod, irritated with myself for my irrational fear that the other shoe is bound to drop. Quinn just seems so _off_ today, and I don't know what to make of it.

She sighs. "Have you been on _Facebook_ at all?" she asks.

"No, why?"

She fiddles with her hands in her lap, and I already know I'm not going to like whatever she's about to say. "I pretty much ignored my phone the entire time I was here," she says. "I didn't want to face the world and, this morning, I kind of had to. I mean, I ran into Sam at church and, after I'd listened to the sermon and managed to come to an understanding within myself enough to get me through the day, the boy asked me if it was true."

I step towards her.

"I'll admit, for a moment, I honestly forgot. I _forgot_ , Rachel, and it was heartbreaking all over again to be reminded of it." She drops her gaze. "Once again, I'm going to be the talk of the school, and of this stupid town. I mean, he's done that to us; he's done that to _me_. I asked Sam what he was talking about because I honestly forgot. I was just in church. I don't think about that stuff when I'm in there, and then he reminded me and I - " her voice catches, and I drop to my knees in front of her, placing my hands on the tops of her thighs. "He said, 'You and F-Finn, did you break up?'" I don't miss the way her voice catches over his name. "But he sounded so sure, and I asked him who told him that. Apparently, it's all over _Facebook_ , because _he_ couldn't even wait five seconds to change his - and also, inadvertently, _my_ \- relationship status to _Single_."

If my hands weren't splayed out on her thighs, I'd probably ball them into fists.

"Everyone knows, Rachel," she says, and I can hear the tears in her voice. "It wasn't enough that he broke up with me, but he didn't even give _me_ the dignity of deciding to change _my_ status. It's been the talk of the weekend, apparently. And, when I turned on my phone, it practically blew up in my hand. People have so much to say about the end of this _Fuinn_ era, apparently. I'm so mad, and I'm so hurt, and all I want is for him to make it better. He's supposed to make it better, Rachel. He's always been the one to make it better; take the pain away. Where is he? Why isn't he here?"

I reach up and wrap my arms around her but she doesn't move.

"Why doesn't he want me? Why doesn't he love me? Why would he do this? I don't - I don't understand what I did. What did I do, Rachel? I mean, is there something wrong with me?"

I pull back, and it's my turn to cup her cheeks and make her look at me. "Quinn Fabray, you stop this right now," I say, stern and confident. "Do you know who you are?"

She frowns at me, clearly confused.

"Do you know who you are?" I repeat.

Her frown slowly subsides, and she nods ever so slightly.

"Who are you?" She blinks slowly. "Go on," I encourage. "Open your mouth. Tell me who you are."

And when she does, all I can really do it listen. She _thinks_ Finn has broken her, but he hasn't even landed a blow. Life has afforded Quinn Fabray the kind of armour people only dream about. Truly, I've never felt so uncomfortably comfortable kneeling there, resting my hands on her skin and giving her whatever courage and assurance she needs to get through this moment right here.

She's Quinn Fabray. _Yes, you are_.

She's Head Cheerio. _Yes, you are_.

She has a 4.0 GPA. _Wait, you do_?

She has killer friends (most of the time.) _Indeed you do. You have me_.

She's popular and respected and totally hot. _Yes, yes and, uh, sure_.

She's strong and confident, and she takes no prisoners. _Yes, yes and I'm not entirely sure that's a good thing._

She's getting out of Lima with or without him. _Of course, you are_.

It doesn't matter that her parents don't love her. _Uh, Quinn_?

She's Beth's mother. _Yes, you are_.

"She has to be proud of me, Rachel," Quinn says, and her voice is so quiet; I barely hear her. "I have to make sure, if she comes looking for me, she'll be proud of who I am."

"She will be," I assure her. "She doesn't even know it yet, but she's already proud of you. And so am I."

Quinn places her hands over mine and leans forward. "I'm not crying."

"No, you're not."

"I'm done crying over him," she says, her gaze meeting mine. "He's not worth my tears."

But, even as she says the words, I wipe a few stray tears from her cheek, surprising her. She sighs, annoyed and disappointed. "Hey," I say. "Washington Irving once said, 'There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness but of power. They are messengers of overwhelming grief and unspeakable love.'"

She breathes out. "Now, you're just confusing me," she says, risking a smile. "Should I or should I not be crying?"

"You're beautiful either way, so I don't really care," I say with a shrug, and I'm rewarded with a full-blown smile that makes my breath catch.

"You're adorable," she says, and I try not to take offence.

I take my hands back, faking indignation. "I say something nice, and _that's_ how you thank me?"

She grabs for my hands and laughs. "I'm just telling the truth, Berry," she says, pulling my hands up to her lips and pressing a kiss against my skin. _Sweet Jesus_. "You say adorable things, and you do adorable things, and you have such a cute, adorable face."

"Fabray, you're not helping yourself here," I mutter, ignoring the flutter in my stomach, which turns into a freaking tornado when she drops my hands into her lap, tugs me forward and kisses the tip of my nose.

"Still mad?" she asks, and there's a playful look in her eye that definitely isn't helping.

"I was never mad," I manage to say.

"Good," she murmurs. "Now, we should probably get going."

I take her cue, and use her as leverage to get to my feet. She groans for good measure, and then stands as well.

"Get your shoes on," she says. "I'll see you downstairs."

I give her one more hug, and then watch her leave my room. It takes a full minute for my racing heart to slow to a normal rate, which, admittedly, freaks me out just a little bit. Not a lot. Just a little. I take my time finishing getting ready, sliding on my boots and putting on a thin layer of makeup before I head downstairs.

In the living room, Quinn and my Dad are having what sounds like another conversation about Shakespeare and, as much as I don't want to interrupt it; I want to see Quinn. I pop into the living room and they both look up at me with knowing smiles.

Quinn immediately stands. "Ready to go?"

I nod. "What do I need?"

"Just your pretty face."

I duck my head to hide my blush.

Quinn moves towards me and holds out her hand. It's the first time I notice she's got a bag of sorts slung over her shoulder. I take her hand without hesitation and she leads the way out to her car after a quick goodbye to my dads. I've seen her car many times before but I never imagined I would ever get to ride in it.

"Rachel, meet Daisy," Quinn says as she unlocks the car and puts the bag in the backseat. "Daisy, this is my friend, Rachel."

I raise my eyebrows. "Daisy?"

"Shut up and get in the car, Berry."

"Oh, I see," I say, as I skip around the car. "As soon as we're out of Chez Berry, the HBIC comes out, huh?"

She throws me a smirk and my heart skips a beat. What is happening right now? Once we're inside, Quinn starts the car and it practically purrs. Who knew a little red, _Volkswagen_ Beetle could purr? I certainly didn't. I try not to pay too much attention to the way she drives - I'll work myself into a panic if I do - and rather just focus on the route we're taking to wherever we're going.

A park, apparently.

As much as I want to ask questions, I don't. I just let her lead - it's difficult, I have to admit - and we walk into the park together. She takes hold of my hand, pulls me close and we _stroll_. She doesn't say anything, and I'm kind of glad for it. She just guides the way through some trees, and then through some more trees, and more trees until we reach a secluded and small creek. Or a meadow, with a big little pond. Whatever it is, it's beautiful. And so is she.

"I come here sometimes," Quinn says, and her voice is barely a whisper. "I've made some truly profound decisions here." We come to a stop on a piece of flat land and she releases my hand. From her special little bag, she pulls out a picnic blanket and I try not to panic. I've always assumed picnics were just a no-go with Quinn, given my history with Finn and picnics.

I almost scoff at the graceful way she lowers herself to the ground. Honestly, it's not even fair.

Once I'm settled, we sit for a while, just watching the sky and the trees and the water. I'm not one for the quiet and the still, but I can appreciate this place. I can understand why a person would come here to think.

Quinn clears her throat. "I came here before I decided to date him," she says, and I turn my head to look at her. "He asked me a few times before I finally gave in. I knew it was what my parents wanted of me, to find a good, handsome boy and be a good, wholesome girl." She laughs humourlessly. "So, I said yes to him. I mean, I _did_ like him but, even then, I do think I was a rebel at heart... only to, ultimately, conform." She leans back, resting on her hands. "I fell in love with him slowly. I didn't even realise I was until he decided to join the Glee Club."

I drop my gaze.

"As you already know, we broke up for a day, talked it over, and then made up. I wanted to make it work because I loved him. I joined the Glee Club because I wanted to support him. I did those things for him. I spent a lot of time this morning thinking about all the things I've done for him, changed who I am, and been bent out of shape for him, and I - I hate that he did that to me; that my love for him made me do that to myself. And it's worse because I didn't even know it was happening until now; that I was constantly changing myself to fit him. And now that he's dissatisfied with all the changes I've made, I'm - I'm free of it."

I cover her hand with mine.

"This has probably been the worst and the best weekend of my life," she says, smiling at me. "I started it as a complete wreck, and you've been so kind and attentive and so comforting. You've let me cry all over you for hours - it must be hours - and you've let me complain and fed me and made me feel welcome in your home and, honestly, I don't know what to say to you other than thank you." She takes a deep breath. "I'm not good at this friendship thing, Rachel. Santana and Britt and I have the _strangest_ relationships, and I literally wouldn't even know where to begin to explain them, but this is different with you, isn't it?"

I nod.

She smiles brilliantly. "I really am so glad we're friends," she says.

"Me too."

She sighs, her head rolling back and she looks to the sky. "This morning, there was a moment when I felt _relieved_ ," she says. "It was kind of an epiphany. After all my panic about having people know, and trying to stem my impending freakout; I felt relieved. It was just for a moment, yes, but I felt it nonetheless and I think I can work back to the feeling. In time, and all that." She looks at my face, her eyes meeting mine. "I feel as if I've talked _so much_ today."

"You have."

She laughs lightly. "Can we set aside all the heavy stuff and just enjoy our picnic?"

"I'd like that."

Her smile dazzles me and I have to look away before the girl blinds me. She sits up straight and fishes in her bag for whatever items she's brought with us. I'm not surprised when she pulls out a thermos and two cups, but my eyes do widen at the sight of a certain box. "We never did get around to eating our baked goodies."

"I completely forgot about them."

"I did too," she says, shaking her head. "I just hope they're still okay. Your Dad put them in the fridge last night but I don't even know what they are."

"And you never did ask, so I never did tell you."

"This is true," she murmurs, deftly pouring coffee into the two cups for us. I trust it's some variation of vegan milk when she hands one to me. "Would you like to do the honours, Miss Berry?"

I reach for the box immediately and open it without preamble. I want to show her what I bought.

"Is that what I think it is?" she suddenly asks, peering into the box with wide, eager eyes. She looks so childlike and happy, and I mentally pat myself on the back. "Rachel Berry, how did you know my favourite, favourite thing in the world is a red velvet cupcake?"

I pluck said baked good out of the box and hand it to her. "I think you'll find there are many things I know about you, Quinn Fabray."

"That doesn't sound creepy at all," she quips, but takes the cupcake from me with a smile. Then: "Is it vegan?"

"Not that particular one," I assure her. "I'm fully aware my vegan lifestyle isn't for everyone, and I wouldn't deign to misrepresent your most prized baked good to you."

"Ever?"

"I'll bake some for you one day."

She actually bounces at the sound of that, and I wonder if Quinn Fabray has always been _this_ Quinn Fabray. Is this how she's always been behind closed doors; with Santana and Brittany, and with Finn? Everything I think I know about her - the great, the good, the bad and the ugly - all seem like pieces of different people all forced into this one human being, who now seems _very_ different to the idea I built up in my head. It amazes me that she's so much better than I imagined.

We nibble on our snacks and sip at our coffee as we talk about the weirdest things. Apparently, with Quinn, no topic of conversation is off limits - expect, well, the obvious ones: politics, religion, sex and babies. But we talk about cannibalism. I don't even know how it comes up but we talk about it. At length.

"And would you eat someone if you were stranded on an island?" I ask.

There isn't even hesitation. "Yes, I would."

I realise I'm starting to see her differently when she tells me she always wanted to be a plant scientist when she was younger. Yes, she calls it a _plant scientist_ , and it is literally the cutest thing I've ever seen and heard.

"In the fifth grade, I did an entire presentation about it," she explains, blushing. "I researched all the famous botanists in history and collected all these leaves and flowers. It was honestly so lame, but I was so sure."

"And now?"

She licks her lips. "Now, I suppose, I'm not so sure of anything. I haven't been sure for quite some time, Rachel. I didn't even realise how much of _my_ time and _my_ life existed around his; around making sure his dreams came true while suppressing my own. I don't even think I _have_ dreams of my own."

"There's still time, Quinn," I say. "You'll figure it out. I know you will. My dads and I, we'll help you any way we can, okay?"

"Thank you," she says, her blush still on her cheeks. "It'd be nice to know what I wanted, since I was three years old." She winks at me and, okay, she has a pretty wink and all that.

"I think all of Lima knows about my ambitions," I say. "It's never been a secret I want to star on Broadway."

"Did you ever consider doing something else?"

"Once," I reply. "It wasn't because there was something else that drew my attention. Of course, every kid has small, passing fantasies of being a doctor or an astronaut when they're little, but my consideration of another vocation was quite recent, actually."

She frowns. "Oh?"

"I've never been shy about my talent," I explain. "I _know_ I'm talented, and I work very hard to perfect it. I train and I train because I know it will amount to something some day, just like athletes, you know. I _will_ be on Broadway. There isn't even a doubt in my mind. But." I pause, recalling. "It was a perfectly normal day, actually. We were sitting in Glee Club and Mr Schue was trying to teach us something important, I suppose, but nobody was paying attention."

"So, yes, perfectly normal," she echoes, and I just about manage a smile.

"I was paying attention, of course, because I'm nothing if not a diligent student in all my academic and extramural endeavours. But, you know, it's like a flip that gets switched whenever I open my mouth because then everyone starts paying attention. As _soon_ as I start showing interest and start planning whatever song I'm going to sing; a great big fight breaks out. Kurt and Mercedes were being especially prissy that day; Santana was being particularly snarky, and nobody was up to defend me. And, as I stood there and took their jabs and tried to hold my own; I considered for the first time if constantly having to defend my _self_ and my _talent_ was worth it." I look to a spot ahead of us and sigh. "I thought about it long and hard afterwards. I was just so exhausted at having to defend myself _constantly_ , you know?"

I don't know if she does know, but she says nothing.

"I considered what I would do if I didn't have this dream of Broadway. Would I have been different? More accepted? Or would I have been picked on just the same, without my talent to fall back on? Admittedly, I was halfway towards an existential crisis with all my thoughts, but it was the first time I considered just giving it all up and doing something less stressful and less soul-crushing. Because, as much criticism that I face in the Glee Club, it's really nothing compared to what's waiting for me out there, is it?"

"People can be cruel," she says solemnly. "I should know. I've been one of those people." She drops her gaze. "I still am, sometimes."

I don't know how to respond to that.

"What changed your mind?" she asks, moving us along. "Brought you back?"

I take a breath. "You did."

She frowns in confusion.

"I was just standing there in my little - massive - crisis, and then _y_ _ou_ asked me to quit wasting time and just sing."

Her brow is so furrowed that I think _she's_ the adorable one now. "I can't remember."

"I don't expect you to," I tell her. "The circumstances are unimportant to me; just that you asked me to sing, and it was a significant moment for me, Quinn. Because I don't know who to be but a performer. It's not every day you can find the one thing about yourself you want to pursue with every fibre of your being, which is why I'm going to help you find whatever your passion is. Because, however unknowingly, you helped keep mine on track."

She looks a little sheepish, her cheeks a rosy pink. "I think I asked you to sing because I just love the sound of your voice," she says, and now _I'm_ the one who's blushing. "Beth loved your voice more though," she tells me. "Even on her most restless days, she used to calm whenever you opened your mouth. It was magical, really. Your voice is truly something special, Rachel."

"Thank you, Quinn," I manage to say, and we fall into silence once more. I suspect there are many things she wants to tell me - I have so many things to tell her as well - but we both recognise today isn't the day for _everything_ , even though I'd like it to be. I want every day to be like this: filled with Quinn. This perfect, broken girl who's just learning who she is again, unattached and independent.

"What time does your mom get back?" I ask, breaking our silence.

Quinn looks away from me. "I'm not sure," she says. "Does it matter?"

"I just want to know for how long I get to keep you today."

"As long as you want, Rachel," she says, smiling as she looks back at me. "I do have homework to do though. Think we can get that done before we do something else all _friend_ -like?"

"Of course, Miss Four-Point-Oh GPA."

She laughs. "Why do I get the feeling you're never going to let that one go?"

"Because I'm not."

"Good." She lets out a content sigh before she shifts to lie down on her back. All that grace, really. _And_ with her eyes closed as well. I watch her for a long moment, trying and failing to curb my fascination at just what is happening right now. I'm Quinn Fabray's friend. I am friends with the most popular girl in school.

Wait a minute.

"What happens tomorrow?" I suddenly ask her, and her eyes snap open. "At school, what happens?"

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Well," I say, somewhat nervously; "we don't exactly move in the same circles, Quinn."

"No, we don't," she agrees. "But you're _my_ friend, Rachel. That means something to me."

"I just want to know, you know, what the rules are?"

Her frown deepens as she sits back up and levels her gaze on me. "Rules?"

"Do I get to say hello to you in the corridors?"

"You already do that."

"Do we get to talk in public?"

Her features soften. "We're _not_ secret friends, okay? I won't hide you, if that's what you're worried about. I wouldn't ever try to keep you from shining, little star."

I have to force myself to ignore her sentiments. "I still don't - "

"Rachel," she interrupts, reaching for my hand. "If you're worried about how _I'll_ react to how the school will react to the fact we're now friends; I'm afraid I'm going to have to tell you I'm more worried about the backlash to the fact that I am no longer in a relationship."

I blink. "Oh."

She smiles gently. "It's easy to forget, isn't it?" She visibly deflates. "I've already been asked out a handful of times, and I'm pretty sure people are going to stare at me all day. Also, I _really_ don't want to see him at all."

"Has he tried to contact you?" I find myself asking, unsure what I want her answer to be.

"He sent a text early this morning," she tells me; "asking how I was doing." Her rolling eyes must match mine. "I confess I had a bit of a freakout when I saw his name pop up, but I managed to keep it together enough to tell him to - "

"Fuck off?" I offer helpfully.

She giggles. "No," she says, pretending to be scandalised. "Rachel Berry. I never."

I just shrug.

"Let nobody tell you that you're not special," she says. "Now, come lie with me. Tell me, does that cloud look like Principal Figgins?"

It takes us a moment to settle, each of us on our backs with the lengths of our arms touching and our fingers linked. "It doesn't look like Principal Figgins, no, but it does resemble a horse," I say.

"Is there a difference?" she asks, and I cackle and cough and _oh my_. She throws me one of those playful looks again and my throat goes dry. She's a menace, this one, and it's an entirely different experience being next to her, rather than opposite her. I can't stop myself from wondering what it would be like to see her actually _try_ to flirt. Honestly, I think anyone on the receiving end would probably short-circuit or something equally drastic.

"That one looks like a jellyfish," she says after a moment.

I squeeze her fingers. "If you're worried about tomorrow, don't be."

She squeezes back. "Why? Are you going to protect me from all the staring and lewd comments?" she asks.

Even though I can hear the teasing in her voice, I answer her seriously. "As best I can, yes."

"Hey," she breathes, and I look at her. "You know you don't have to do that. I can take care of myself."

"I know," I say, bashfully. "But you shouldn't have to."

She rolls towards me, kisses my cheek, and then rolls away. "Rachel Berry, my hero."

* * *

The whole 'hero' is a role I fully intend to uphold but, as Quinn said, she really can take care of herself. I'll admit I didn't get much sleep last night. I stayed up, my mind restlessly dissecting _everything_ that happened over the weekend. Of course, all of it involved Quinn, which is still a notion that makes me breathless.

But so does the sight of Quinn Fabray, apparently.

I'm standing by my locker when I hear it. Or, _don't_ hear it, I suppose. The corridor falls to a hush and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. She's here. I can feel it. Which, in hindsight, _is_ alarming. I turn away from my locker to look. I can't help it.

There she is. Quinn Fabray, flanked by Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce, practically gliding down the corridor, looking as if she doesn't have a single care in the world. She's in her Cheerios uniform, sporting a passive expression that threatens to turn into her patented glare, with her binder and notebook tucked against her chest. There's nothing different about this picture except for the fact that Quinn Fabray is looking at me.

Okay.

Just breathe, Rachel.

"Stop staring, Berry," Santana says as the trio come to a stop right in front of me. "Isn't the point to make sure people _don't_ stare?"

I clear my throat, my eyes flicking to Quinn's face, which is now smiling softly. "If you're intending for people not to stare, stopping and talking to me isn't the way to do that," I point out.

"But you're our friend now," Brittany says. "Our _real_ friend, right, Q?"

Quinn nods, smiling at Brittany. "Indeed, B," she says sweetly, before her eyes return to me. "Hey," she says.

"Hi."

Then: "Do I get a hug now?"

I'm rooted to the spot for a beat too long because Quinn arches one of those perfectly sculptured eyebrows, and I practically lurch forward and wrap my arms around her neck. Really, why am I such a spazz?

I feel her chuckle near my ear. "It's not a big deal," she whispers. "Just breathe, all right? We're both going to be perfectly fine today."

It's what I need to hear, and I'm smiling a little more freely when we separate. Before I know what's happening, I'm buried in another blonde hug, Brittany squeezing the air right out of my lungs. Quinn giggles and Santana looks borderline murderous. It's so worth it, though. When Brittany pulls away, I don't even look at Santana.

"That's right, Midget. Never going to happen."

Quinn rolls her eyes before they settle on me again. "Have a good day, all right?" she says. "I'll see you in Spanish."

And, just like that, the three of them are gone as if they were apparitions. But no, they weren't, because people are staring at _me_ now. Well, if school drama is what the people want; who's Rachel Berry not to give it to them? I finish up with my locker, collecting the books I need for my first lessons and then head to class. I have Calculus first period, which is uneventful. Spanish isn't any better, and I feel supremely uncomfortable with the way people stare at Quinn. I hide in the library for my free period.

It's when I get to World Geography that things get interesting, so to say, because I sit next to possibly the biggest gossip this school has ever seen: Kurt Hummel.

"So... did you hear?" Kurt starts, as soon as he's taken his seat beside me.

I stamp down on my irritation. "Hear what?"

"About Finn and Quinn?"

I glance at him, wondering if he has any idea just how ridiculous he sounds saying those names together like that. "What about them?"

"Didn't you hear they broke up?" he asks, scandalised. "What have you been doing all weekend? It's the talk of social media."

"I was busy," I defend.

"Uh huh," he sounds. "I bet you're jumping for joy that Finn is officially back on the market."

Despite myself, I grimace. There is no way I would even consider entertaining the very _idea_ of dating Finn now, or ever. Quinn is my friend now - so is Finn, which I will have to reevaluate - and he hurt her. That's a lot to work through, and I'm definitely not willing to. In this breakup, I get Quinn - or, she gets me; however that works - and everyone's going to have to deal with it. Somehow, I suspect Quinn and I have lit a fire under the school system, however inadvertently, but I'm not worried.

"I'm working on getting all the details," Kurt says. "Don't worry. I'll keep you in the loop."

If he only knew.


	5. five

**Chapter Five**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _a lie is simply a lie.  
_ _it draws its strength from belief.  
_ _stop believing in what hurts you._

 _._

Okay.

It's exhausting ruling a school with a supposed iron fist. Even letting Santana handle things takes too much energy sometimes, and all I want is for this day to be over. I'm tired of people staring at me and whispering behind their hands about me. It isn't as if they're even saying nice things. Do they really think I don't see them? Do they really think I can't hear them? People speculate, sure, but they also seem that, because I'm now single, I'm back on the market. Which I'm not.

"That guy is about as subtle as an elephant in a china shop," Santana comments darkly, and I look to my right. She's smiling sardonically. "I mean, if he wasn't hot, I'd punch him for trying to check you out. It's literally open season on Quinn Fabray."

I lean back in my chair. "I almost forgot how bad it can be," I tell her.

"Guys are dogs," she agrees; "which is why I'm a lady-lover."

"You might be on to something with that," I say and, thankfully, before she can latch onto _that_ particular statement, the teacher walks in and immediately starts the class. What am I even saying? Seriously?

Being in class has been fine, for the most part. I take a number of AP courses, which keeps me away from _him_ , and majority of the students in these classes _are_ academic-minded, which is nice. I can handle a few stares here and there when I'm in class, but it's the corridors between periods that are making me internally rage. I imagine that, if Santana weren't constantly sneering at my side, a countless number of people would have already approached me looking for a hookup or a date. I even found a mountain of letters in my locker.

It makes me feel like Jennifer Love Hewitt's character in _Can't Hardly Wait_ , and I suspect I'm bound to snap at some point as well.

Lunch is next, though, which has heightened my senses. It's the one hour I'm sure to see _him_. The jocks and the Cheerios sit together, spread over several joined tables and, until this weekend, Finn's seat was always beside mine. I let out a heavy sigh, and Santana casts a worried look my way. It's cute how concerned she is, even though her words would never give that away. When I _finally_ returned her texts and calls, and explained what happened; she threatened to beat him up for me. As satisfying as that would probably be, I politely declined her offer.

It's still on the table, apparently. She can be rather violent, and I shudder to think about how she could go off the rails if Brittany wasn't around to soothe her. When the bell sounds, indicating the end of the period, I don't move. Santana doesn't either. She's waiting on _me_ , and I don't think I'm ready.

"What if he tries to talk to me?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as the rest of the class clears out.

"Then you talk to him," she says, glancing at the door. She's clearly worried about Brittany.

I swallow audibly and cover her hand with mine. "Go," I say. "I have to stop by the bathroom anyway. I'll just meet you in the cafeteria."

"Are you sure?"

"Are you going to make me turn it into an HBIC order?"

She narrows her eyes at me, but there's an understanding smile on her face. "Don't hide from the cafeteria," she says as she stands. "Face it today, and it'll get better. We both know that."

I nod and watch her leave with a reassuring smile, even though I feel defeated. Why should _I_ have to be the strong one? It takes me another minute to leave the classroom and make my way to my locker to deposit my books. The corridors are quieter now, which is better, though the empty spaces allow me to see the people looking at me much clearer. Still, I keep my expression as passive as ever. If it's one thing being a Fabray has taught me; feelings are easily hidden behind the perfect mask.

"There you are."

I whip around so fast, I almost clip my head on the door to my locker door. "Rachel," I squeak. "You've _really_ got to stop scaring me."

"Sorry," she says, but she sounds anything but. Her knowing smile is also a dead giveaway. "Why aren't you in the cafeteria?" she asks.

"Why aren't you?" I counter, arching an eyebrow.

"If you must know, Fabray, I _was_ in the cafeteria, but then _you_ weren't and I started to worry," she admits, and I reach out to touch her arm. "I might have sent a text but we both know how useless you are with those."

I laugh. "I suppose I deserved that one."

"Yes, you did," she says, her smile genuine. "Are you okay, though? We didn't really get a chance to talk in Spanish. How's the day going?"

I sigh as I quietly close my locker. "Walk with me?"

We easily fall into step beside each other. Her shoes squeak on the polished floor, and I try to focus on that as my thoughts threaten to overwhelm me. I don't even know how to answer her questions. I mean, she _knows_ I'm not okay, but it sounds as if she's asking me something else entirely.

"I think, given what I was expecting, the day itself has been average," I finally say. "I _am_ exhausted though. I didn't get much sleep." I feel her step closer to me as we walk, her arm brushing mine. "It was the nightmares, yes, but - "

"Quinn?" she breathes.

"My mom and I kind of had a fight over him," I explain. "She thinks it's _my_ fault that I wasn't able to hold onto him. That _I_ did this, and... what if she's right?"

There's something to be said about Rachel Berry's angry face; the way it scrunches up and she goes a shade of red I didn't know she could. She stops walking and her hands ball into tight, tiny fists. "Tell me you're joking," she says. "Your mom _did not_ say that."

I drop my gaze. "She got back quite late last night," I tell her. "I assume she hit the liquor pretty hard on the flight or something because, when I told her we'd broken up, she laughed, cried, yelled at me and then laughed again. In that order. Apparently, it's _shameful_ not to be with the father of your children, which I recognise must have something do with her own feelings towards the divorce."

Rachel just stares at me in disbelief. "Why are you so calm about this?" she asks.

"What would you rather have me do?" I ask, a slight edge to my voice as it rises in volume. "I already did my crying, Berry. And I generally make it a rule not to listen to what my alcoholic mother says. She's just a bitter, old woman who blames _me_ for the fact her marriage imploded because I deigned to get pregnant by a boy who doesn't think I'm good enough for him anymore!"

For a surprised moment, we just stare at each other. When she breaks the spell, her eyes cast a look around the, thankfully, empty corridor. It's enough for her to wrap me in another hug that lasts far too long but not long enough.

"We'll talk about this later," she tells me when she pulls back. "Now, we should probably get something to eat. Quinn Fabray has to remain fed and hydrated, as per the Berrymen's instructions."

I smile as we resume our walk. "Your dads asked after me?"

"Of course."

 _Of course_. It's so easy, isn't it? Of course, they worried about me enough to ask, but my own mother was out of State for an entire weekend and didn't even bother to call and make sure I hadn't slipped on a wet tile in the bathroom and broken my neck.

"Well, we don't want to disappoint them," I say. "My salad awaits."

"When is your weigh-in?"

I let out a small laugh. "Thursday," I tell her. "And, since there was no practice on Saturday because Coach was visiting - " I stop suddenly.

"What?"

"He really _did_ pick this weekend well, didn't he?" I stop walking, my lower lip trembling. "Which really means he's been planning this for a while."

Rachel touches my forearm, slowing my thoughts. "Hey," she soothes. "His motivations are his own. You're here and you're strong, and we can worry about all the _w_ _hy_ and _h_ _ow_ later, okay? Today is about you. It's about how you're going to walk in there with your head held high, taking shit from nobody, and sit yourself straight across from him and not even _see_ him. Okay?"

I blink.

"Okay?"

I nod. "Okay."

She beams at me. "Come on, you're Quinn Fabray, Head Cheerio with a four-point-oh GPA... you can do anything."

I laugh because what else can I do? Rachel Berry just seems to be one of those people who remembers things. All kinds of things. It's a little unnerving, because I've been surrounded by people who _forget_ my entire life. Birthdays, piano recitals, cheerleading exhibitions, fetching me from school... all the usual things.

We start walking again, and I automatically slow our pace the closer we get to the cafeteria. "Look, Rachel, I just want to say thank you again," I start. "I know right now it probably feels like a one-sided friendship - I probably need you more than you need me right now - but I'm going to make it up to you when I have a handle on everything, okay?"

"Quinn, you do know that's not how friendships work, right?" I must look confused because she just continues. "There's no score card, okay? Not with me, at least. I _want_ to help you, and I like spending time with you, regardless of whatever you have to get a handle on, okay?"

"Okay."

"Now, go in there and own it."

I glance at her. "You're not coming in with me?"

"Not today," she says. "Today is _all_ about you. Make sure they know it."

I blink. "You're the best friend I've ever had, you know that?"

Her smile lights up her entire face and she hugs me so tightly, I think she actually bruises one of my ribs. "Now, I do," she whispers, and then releases me. "No, go! Work it!"

And I do. I open the doors to that cafeteria and walk in with my head high and my face giving away nothing. Honestly, to the untrained eye, I probably look bored, but my heart is beating double-time and the sudden hush of the cafeteria definitely isn't helping with my composure. Do they want to make it any more obvious?

I saunter up to the food line that doesn't really exist anymore - it's been lunch for a while - and pick up a salad. I haven't glanced at our table yet, and I look at it only when I'm headed in that direction. There's an empty seat next to Santana, which I know she reserved for me. Bless her.

Conversation stops when I slide into my seat and throw a grateful smile at Santana. I feel my body grow tense before my eyes drift over the occupants of this particular table. Finn isn't sitting at this one; he's at the one just over. I can _hear_ him but I won't bring myself to look at him.

"What?" I ask, my tone even and daring. The smart ones back off.

And then there's Noah Puckerman.

I feel his hand slide over my shoulder before I feel his breath against my cheek. "So..." he drawls. "Princess Perfect is _finally_ single."

I shrug his hand off, and he just laughs, getting the Cheerio sitting on my other side to move. She does so too quickly, and I make a mental note to have her run extra laps at practice. What happened to solidarity?

Puck sits down next to me, his body angled my way. "I have been waiting for this day for _years_ ," he says. "When do you want to do it?"

My eyes are focused on my salad as I pierce an unsuspecting piece of cucumber with my fork. "Do what?"

"The _nasty_."

Slowly, I turn my neck to look at him. He looks eager, determined. "No," I say.

"Oh, come on," he says. "We all know you put out. Finn talks about it _all_ the time."

My fingers clench around my fork, my knuckles turning white. I know he's just baiting me. I know Finn wouldn't do that. I'm convinced he did participate in 'locker room talk' but there are boundaries, and I set them. There are just things you do and don't talk about.

"So, what do you say?" Puck presses.

"No," I say again.

"She said no, asshole," Santana pipes up next to me, but she really just looks bored by this entire exchange. I am too, if I'm being honest.

"But, Quinn, the Puckasaurus has been waiting for you."

"And he'll wait a lifetime, Puck," I say. "Seriously? Did you really think this would work? I mean, why would you even want me? Isn't he your best friend?"

"I don't care about that," he says. "You're fucking hot, and it's not my fault he's such a fucking mess over this whole thing."

I frown. "What?"

"Oh, don't do that," he scoffs. "You may be the sexiest chick in this hellhole, but you're still the HBIC, which means you _are_ a bitch, and you definitely proved it."

I turn my glare on him, hearing something in his words I definitely don't like." "Excuse me?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," he says smugly, and I feel something nasty crawl up the back of my back. I feel uneasy, and one glance back at Santana proves I'm right to be wary. She looks about as taut as I feel.

"What _are_ you talking about, Puck?"

He laughs. "Oh wow. I know you're blonde and all, but you're really playing into the 'dumb' stereotype a little too much right now."

My jaw clenches. I'll make sure he pays for that later. "Why are you being so mean about this?" I ask, because I'm actually curious. "Like it's _my_ fault? I'm not the one who broke up with him."

"Well, you didn't really give him much of a choice, did you?"

I feel as if I've been slapped. "Excuse me?"

"What did you think was going to happen when he found out, huh?" he sneers. "I thought you were many things, but even this is below you."

Now I'm just confused. I narrow my eyes. "And what exactly did our dear quarterback say he 'found out?'" I ask, keeping as calm as I can be, when all I want to do is punch Puck in the face and break his smug, stupid smile.

"That you cheated on him."

I get to my feet so fast, my chair topples over and gets me the attention I already have. Surprise and shock are my first emotions, and then anger. Blind, enraging fury. "He said _what_?" I scream at Puck, and he finally has the smarts to back away. I grab hold of the front of his shirt in my right first and bend right into his stupid face. "Noah Puckerman, so help me God, if you don't tell me _exactly_ what he said, I will cut off your Puckasaurus and send it through a meat grinder!"

He grimaces, and there's a collective and uncomfortable shifting of several boys in their seats.

"Now," I growl.

Puck pulls back as much as he can but I don't let him go. "It was after practice on Saturday," he starts to explain, rushing his words. "In the locker rooms. You know how the guys are. We were teasing him or whatever because he usually rushes out of there to meet up with you but he was acting different that day. Doing things slowly and looking all mopey. When Freddie asked what was up, he said you two broke up." He swallows nervously. "The guys laughed, I guess, because he managed to lose the single hottest girl in this place and when he said he's the one who ended things with you, nobody believed him. I mean, who in their right mind would leave _you_? He's fucking insane."

A sentiment I agree with, but I need to keep us on track.

"We dogged him about it until he blurted out that he _had_ to do it because you'd cheated on him with some guy from Carmel, and it was still so fresh, and to just leave him alone and to... not tell anyone, I guess. Oops."

My heart is beating, I'm sure of it. I'm also breathing, I must be. Those are both involuntary bodily functions, so I'm not worried. But, really, in this moment, I feel _nothing_. Absolutely nothing. No pain, no rage, not even that flutter of relief I was so sure I wanted. I'm frozen. I'm numb.

And then Puck smirks, which breaks into my haze. "Not so perfect, are you?" he quips and, before I know it, I've slapped him across the face so hard I think my hand is broken.

Now the cafeteria is completely silent.

I back away in surprise, and then shock, and then _rage_. "You're a fucking asshole," I say to Puck before I round on Finn, my gaze sparking with electricity. His own eyes widen at the sight, and I've never ever felt so much contempt for a single person in my entire life. This boy, who I was _convinced_ I would marry one day, build a life with, have more children with. I was _all in_ , and this - this hurts more than I could ever think possible.

"How could you?" I scream at him, definitely losing my cool. Did I ever even have it? "How could you tell them _I_ cheated on _you_? How could you make up such lies about me?"

Finn just stares at me, mouth agape.

"Why?" I yell. "Why would you do that? To make yourself to look like less of an asshole? To look better to your stupid teammates? Why would you do that to _me_? After everything... after everything we've been through. After _Beth_." Oh, God, it hurts. I shrink back, my body folding into itself. "I thought you were better," I say, holding on as best I can in this public place. "And you wonder why I keep people at an arm's length... To avoid this! Fuck you, Finn Hudson! Fuck you!"

And then I turn, somewhat blindly, because there are tears in my eyes. Santana is suddenly there with Brittany. She has a hand on my elbow, guiding me away. I don't even know what's happening, but the world slows to a stop when I feel a warm hand slip into my left, and another on the small of my back.

"Rachel," I whisper.

"Berry, what the fuck are you doing?" Santana asks, her tone biting and harsh.

"No," I manage to say. "I want Rachel."

That shuts up all protests, and I'm led out of the cafeteria towards the Cheerios' locker room. It's not empty but one glare from Santana and they all scatter. I drop down onto a beanbag like a sack of potatoes - so much for my patented grace - and Rachel sits down next to me, immediately wrapping her arms around me. I burrow into her, hiding my face and breathing her in.

"The fuck - " Santana breathes, but I don't care. I clutch onto Rachel's sweater like it's a lifeline, my sobs turning me into a shaking fool. I hate this. I hate all of this. I was doing so well. I was getting through this day relatively fine, and then _this_. I don't even know what to make of any this.

Rachel's hands slide over my back and I focus on that rather than the spectacle I created of myself not five minutes ago.

"I hate him," I murmur, my mouth pressed against her neck. "I hate him so much right now."

"I know," she says. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you're hurting like this, Quinn."

I fall silent, and I hear voices talking around me but I'm not paying attention to anything they're actually saying. A few minutes later, I feel another, warmer, hand run over my hair.

"We're going to kill the bastard," Santana says.

Before I can protest, Rachel's hold on me tightens. "She's kidding," she says. Then: "You _are_ kidding."

"Whatever, Midget."

There's a soft press of lips to my temple. "Feel better, Q," Brittany whispers. "I'll keep an eye on San; make sure she doesn't do anything crazy."

I just hum in response, and Rachel squirms. I almost smile.

When we're alone again, Rachel's body seems to relax, but her hold on me tightens. "I don't even know how you're breathing," she says. "Are you sure you're getting enough air down there?"

Okay, so, I do smile this time. I pull back so I can look at her face. "Thank you for being here."

"There's nowhere else I would rather be."

We sit in silence for another few minutes, before I suck in a breath and meet her gaze. "Have you eaten?"

"Have you?"

"I think I'd be sick if I were to eat something right now," I confess. "We should get you something to eat. Right now."

She raises her eyebrows. "I know what you're suggesting, Fabray, and, no, we are not bunking class."

I huff.

"We'll go back to class and then we'll go to Glee, and you will get through this day. And _then_ we'll go to my house and we'll have a pity party and plan out ways to make Finn's life a living hell."

"I don't know if I'll be good company, Rachel," I say. "I'm feeling very bitter and homicidal right now."

She presses her forehead against mine. "Bitter and homicidal are my middle names."

I let out an unexpected laugh, and then sigh heavily. "I'm such a mess."

"Yes, you are," she whispers. "But you're a beautiful mess."

"I don't know how I feel about that," I say, blinking. "But thank you for saying I'm beautiful. I've already been called perfect, hot and sexy today, but none of them mean remotely as much to me. So, thank you."

She smiles warmly, and then glances at the clock on the wall. "We should get you cleaned up," she says. "I have some Advil in my locker."

"Now I'm turning into a pill-pusher," I groan, rolling out of her embrace and wiping my eyes.

"I'm keeping a very close eye on you, Fabray," she says, carefully rising to her feet. "I'll be right back, okay? Wash your face. You have Biology after lunch."

I look up at her, curious. "Is that one of those things you just know about me?"

She nods.

"Creeper," I quip, smiling at her.

She holds out her hands and pulls me up. "Feeling steady?" she asks, her hands still in mine.

I nod.

"Give me a minute," she says, and then ducks out of the locker room. Once she's gone, I move towards the sinks and splash my face, trying to bring back _feeling_. My makeup is a complete mess, and I'm busy fixing it when Rachel gets back with a bottle of water, one pill and a granola bar.

"Let's see," she says, making me turn towards her. "See? Nobody can even tell."

"That I just cried out my body weight?"

She shakes her head.

I reach for some paper towels and wipe at my tears on her neck, drying her skin. "Sorry," I murmur.

"Comes with the territory," she says.

"As my best friend."

She squeaks in surprise, and I smile warmly at her.

"Just don't tell Santana that," I say, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Is that for me?" I ask, eyeing the granola bar.

She nods. "I found it in my locker. I think it's a... week old."

"I really don't care," I say, and watch as she opens the bar for me and hands it to me. "Have you eaten?" I ask, taking a small bite. She bites her bottom lip, which is answer enough for me. "We'll share," I say, and hand the bar back. Her eyes meet mine for a moment before she takes her own bite.

We trade the bar back and forth and it's honestly the most charged moment I've ever experienced, and I don't even know why. It's emotional and... sexual, which should make me uncomfortable but it really doesn't.

"All done," she says, throwing away the wrapper. "Feel better?"

"I think so. Thank you."

"So, Biology?"

I nod. "Biology."

"See you in Glee?"

I hesitate.

"I know he's going to be there, but Santana and I have discussed this, and we _will_ hurt him if he tries to talk to you, let alone looks in your direction," she says. "But I want you in Glee, and I think you'll be mad at yourself if you let him dictate _something_ _else_. I know you only joined Glee for him, but I know you like it now, so stay for yourself; don't do anything else for him."

I take a deep breath. "Can I let you know how I feel after class?"

"I won't force you to do anything you don't want to, Quinn."

"I know you won't," I say. "But, if you don't push me, I doubt I'll do anything I _do_ want to do."

She looks at the clock again. "Be good, okay?"

"I'll try."

And then, after a quick press of lips to my cheek, she links her arm with mine and we walk out. There are still a few minutes before the bell rings so we're able to visit both of our lockers. She drops me off at my classroom, tells me not to kill anyone, and then she leaves.

I'm successful in the not-killing-anyone part... physically, at least, because my glares are icy enough to pierce through flesh. Nobody says a word to me, which is something that changes when I finally get out of English and the day is over. Glee starts in a few minutes and I haven't yet decided if I'm going or not. I stand at my locker, staring into it in silence as I contemplate whether or not I can handle seeing Finn again today. Or Puck. Or anybody else, for that matter.

Brittany doesn't allow me to skip it, and I just know Santana and Rachel conspired to get _her_ to fetch me because they know I'll never be able to say no to her pretty face. And I can't, which is how I end up seated between Rachel and Santana in the corner of the last row of the risers in the choir room. I'm not looking at anyone but I can feel _so many_ eyes on me. I want to hide. God, I just want to disappear.

Rachel closes one of her hands around my twitching fingers in my lap, hidden by my crossed legs. It's painful, all of it is painful. The entire lesson is tense and, as much as Mr Schuester wants to address the elephant in the room, he doesn't. I really do think I would punch _his_ face if he tried to.

By the time it's over, I'm exhausted and my hands are clammy but Rachel hasn't let go of them once. Even when Mr Schuester asks her if she has anything prepared for the given topic that I don't even remember registering. We wait while everyone leaves, and I'm vaguely made aware of Finn hanging back, clearly wanting to talk to me but Santana says words and he's gone. Not today. I can't handle anymore today.

Everything that happens afterwards is a blur, and I feel like I can properly breathe only after I've changed out of my Cheerios uniform into Rachel's sweats and am lying on her bed with my eyes closed. I can feel her looking at me where she's sitting at the end of her bed, crossed-legged and thoughtful.

"Wow, you really do think very loudly," I mutter, rubbing my temple with my forefinger and middle finger.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

I open my eyes and look at her. "Come here."

She does, and lies on her side next to me, her eyes on my face. "What are you thinking about?" she asks.

"That I never want to move."

"Does that mean I should get you a catheter?"

I pull a face. "Gross, Berry."

She giggles.

"Thank you for today," I say, yawning. "Thank you for taking care of me."

Her fingers brush my cheek. "Of course, Quinn," she says. "Why don't you try to catch a nap? You've had quite an emotional day."

I sigh in relief. "Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

"Of course."

* * *

It's almost deja vu when I wake up: door open, pasta smell wafting in and quiet voices floating up the stairs. I think, years from now, this is how I'll remember the Berry home. Gingerly, I roll out of bed, visit the bathroom to make myself look presentable and then head downstairs to find Rachel doing homework at the kitchen table with LeRoy and Hiram bustling about the kitchen. There's soft music playing and all three of them are quietly singing to themselves.

Hiram spots me first and beams at the sight of me. He moves towards me, takes hold of my hand and pulls me into the kitchen. We shimmy left and shimmy right and I laugh when he dips me, enjoying this impromptu dance.

"Good morning," he says with a laugh after one last spin. He kisses my forehead, hugs me once, and then sends me towards the kitchen table.

Rachel is looking at me with a look that's equal parts concerned and just _happy_ to see me. I flush slightly as I take my seat next to her and rest my chin on her shoulder to look at the work she's doing. It's Calculus, and she really doesn't look to be enjoying it.

"How did you sleep?" she asks, keeping her eyes on her notebook.

"I slept," I murmur. "Did you sleep?"

"A little," she says.

I clench my jaw, and she looks at me. "Was it me?"

"I'm worried about you," she admits, her breath brushing my cheek. "And now I have this stupid Calculus to contend with. Honestly, my vocation is the Arts. I'm very talented in those subjects. This is all just seems like a waste of time."

I raise my eyebrows. "You do know that Math and music are very closely linked, right?"

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

I smile at her petulance. "Do you need help?"

"Because you're Miss Four-Point-Oh GPA?"

"Might as well put me to use," I say, shrugging. "Calculus is actually one of my favourite subjects."

"Then you _must_ help me."

I lean back, sit up straight and the two of us work on her homework until LeRoy declares that dinner is ready. I don't quite notice that the three of them keep glancing at me until I reach for my water and catch them all looking at me at the same time.

I blink. "Uh, is something wrong?" I ask. "Do I have something in my teeth?"

"No," LeRoy says, recovering first. "Nothing's wrong, Quinn."

"Oh." I swallow. "Then why are you all looking at me?"

Rachel clears her throat. "I think we're all just a bit surprised," she says.

"Okay...?"

She puts a hand on mine. "It's nothing bad, Quinn," she assures me. "It's just, well, you're really good at that."

"At what?"

"Tutoring," she says. "I've been struggling with that section for two weeks now and your explanation and your patience helped me understand it. You're very good at it, Quinn. Have you ever tutored before?"

I blink, blushing. "Umm, not officially," I say. "I help Britt a lot. There are a few things she struggles with. I also work with the Cheerios sometimes because Sylvester expects a certain GPA to be maintained, in order to stay on the squad."

"Have you considered becoming a student tutor?" Rachel asks. "Like, with the Tutor Centre at school?"

"Um, no, I've never really thought about it," I say. "I'm pretty busy with everything else."

Rachel just nods, dropping the subject. For now, at least. I'm under no illusion that she'll bring it up again, and I'm just left to wonder why it's even a topic to be discussed. I mean, I _do_ like to help the cheerleaders with their work even though I grumble about it when I'm with them. It's all about that moment when they finally get it; when the thing you've been trying to explain to them for however long finally makes sense to them and their eyes light up. It's my favourite part.

After we've eaten, cleared the table and done the dishes; I know I should go home. If I get too comfortable, I know I won't be able to leave, and I've already spent too much time invading their space. Plus, it's a school night.

I don't bother to change back into my uniform - Rachel gives me her blessing to take her clothes with me - pack up my things and get the longest hug imaginable from Rachel. And then from Hiram and from LeRoy.

"Come back anytime," LeRoy says. "We mean it, really, Quinn. We love having you here."

I choke back a response and he kisses my forehead.

Rachel walks me to my car, her eyes downcast. She's quiet, which is slightly unsettling but I can understand why she is. I chuck my bag in the backseat and turn to look at her, smiling at her chewed bottom lip and big, beautiful eyes.

"I know we haven't actually talked about what happened today," she says. "We haven't even discussed tomorrow."

I step towards her. "We can talk about it tomorrow, after Cheerios' practice?"

Her gaze meets mine. "Come over?"

I nod. "I might be exhausted."

"When aren't you?"

I fake a laugh. "Physically, this time."

"I have ice and heat packs."

I shake my head and bop her nose with my forefinger. "Thank you, little star."

Another hug and a kissed cheek later, I'm in my car and on my way to my house. I don't really know what I'm feeling but I'm content to ignore it for now. Finn is just a _thing_ I'm ignoring. And, apparently, so is my mother.

She's not home when I arrive, and I rush straight up to my bedroom. I distract myself with homework and loud music, singing at the top of my lungs and drowning out the thoughts in my head and the feelings in my heart.

When I eventually call it a night, it's just before midnight and I'm not tired. I know I should be, but I'm decidedly not. Which is the only reason I bother to look at my phone. It's just a hot mess, really. Texts and emails and missed phone calls and endless notifications and _now_ I'm exhausted.

I delete messages without reading them. I'm already a heartless bitch so I don't care what Finn texts or what Puck wants to say to me after the crap he pulled today. I also don't care about the numbers I don't recognise. On _Facebook_ , I get rid of the notifications without checking any of the comments or personal messages. I'm so tempted to delete my profile but decide against it. It would be a Finn-related decision and I'm trying not to make those.

I do have a new text from Rachel.

 **Berry: I know you're a Calculus whizz and all that, but does your four-point-oh GPA brain know anything about precipitates? Chemistry sucks!**

I laugh to myself.

 _Quinn: Sure, Berry. We'll work on it tomorrow. X_

I quickly set my alarm and then set my phone down on the nightstand. It takes me another fifteen minutes to fall asleep and, when I do wake up to the sound of Maroon 5, I still don't feel any better or any worse. I'll take it, I will.

I take my time getting ready and then head downstairs. I actually do a double take when I enter the kitchen to find my mother leaning against the kitchen island and sipping at a cup of coffee. She looks hungover, which is really just her normal look.

"Morning," I murmur as I head to the fridge.

She startles and coughs. "Oh, hello."

I roll my eyes as I search the fridge for something to eat. A quick glance at my watch tells me I probably have time for a fruit bowl, but I don't like being in any room with my mother for an extended amount of time. Especially not after our latest conversation. So, with a sigh, I just grab a pre-made smoothie and leave without saying goodbye.

It's not lost on me that she doesn't say a farewell either.


	6. six

**Chapter Six**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _and i said to my body._ _softly.  
_ _'i want to be your friend.'  
_ _it took a long breath.  
_ _and replied 'i have been waiting my whole life for this.'_

.

"Hey, Berry?"

I startle and spin on my heel to spy Santana and Brittany looking at me, one decidedly amused and the other sincere. It seems the Unholy Trinity is going to make a habit of stopping at my locker in the mornings. "Good morning," I force out.

"Have you seen our mutual blonde bitch?" Santana asks.

I blink. "No, I haven't seen Quinn yet. Is something the matter?"

Santana shrugs.

"Her car is here," Brittany says. "But we can't find her."

I nod in understanding. "Do you want me to help you look?"

"We don't want you to _do_ anything," Santana says, her tone taking on a harsh quality. "I don't know what you and Quinn have going on, but she's _our_ friend."

"And I definitely don't dispute that, Santana," I inform her, refusing to shy away from her heated gaze. "But Quinn is my friend too. She's going through a tough time right now. Can we please set aside whatever grievances you have towards me for another time and just help her?"

Santana's eyes narrow, but she says nothing.

"Have you tried calling her?" I ask, addressing Brittany.

"She hasn't been so good with the phone lately," she replies. "She's sad and angry. I don't like seeing Q so sad."

Santana puts a hand around her shoulders. "I know, baby," she whispers. "She'll get happy again, you'll see."

"But she was never happy," Brittany points out and, for some reason, the three of us just know it's a true assessment. Maybe Quinn _could_ have been happy, but she's never truly allowed herself to be. As penance, maybe. Self-punishment.

"Then it's up to us to make sure she is," Santana says.

Brittany looks at me. "Will you help us make her happy?"

"Of course," I say without hesitation.

"Good."

We spend a few minutes discussing logistics. We can't leave her alone, even for a second, because Santana's heard that Finn wants to talk to her; to explain himself, and we can't have that. I know she doesn't want that; not today, at least. Maybe when she's a little calmer and has the chance to talk it out with someone, she'll be more receptive to whatever he wants to say. But not today.

Once everything is settled, they're off, and I'm left feeling a little winded.

I quickly close my locker, take out my phone to fire off a quick text to Quinn and then make my way to homeroom. I have it with Tina, Mike and Artie, which always makes for an interesting morning whenever they have relationship issues to iron out. I've just sat down at the desk beside Tina's when my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I automatically smile at the name.

 _Quinn: Sorry. I arrived early so I was catching a nap in the library. And yes, I promise not to kill anyone today. It'll be a struggle._

 _Quinn: Also, do I have permission to skip History and come chill with you during your Free?_

 _Quinn: See, I know things about you too ;)_

Honestly, I don't think it's possible for my smile to grow any wider. She winked at me.

 **Berry: The library is not meant for sleeping, just so you know. It's now been established that preventing you from becoming a murderer is my number one priority. And of course not. You have to go to class. Permission denied, Fabray.**

 **Berry: Hmm... so I'm not the only creeper in this friendship then ;)**

"Rachel?"

I look up towards Tina. "Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

I frown. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

She looks thoughtful, as if she's trying to find the right words to phrase whatever she wants to say. "It's just, well, Kurt, Mercedes and I were talking," she starts; "and we're a little worried about the attention the Cheerios are paying to you."

I frown, not following.

"Now that Finn and Quinn have broken up, we're worried that Quinn is going to blame you like she sort of did the last time they broke up, and we're - well, we're worried about you. We don't want you to get hurt."

I blink in surprise before I let out a laugh. "Are you being serious?" I ask, because this has to be some joke.

Tina looks uncomfortable. "Yes."

"I appreciate your concern, Tina," I say; "but I'm pretty sure the only person Quinn blames is Finn."

She looks skeptical. "And you're not worried about Santana?"

"I'm _always_ worried about Santana," I admit. "But this has nothing to do with me. It's about Quinn." At her confused look, I continue. "We're friends now," I tell her. "Well, we're trying to be. Obviously, it's a work in progress."

Tina just nods. Maybe I've broken her. "Just, be careful," she eventually says and then turns away to say something to the boys. She's probably relaying my news that Quinn and I are now friends. We'll see how _they_ handle it before the great big school is forced to.

I turn my attention back to my phone when it buzzes again, signalling a text from Quinn.

 _Quinn: You'll come around, Berry. I'll be spending your Free with you in next to no time. We'll be creepers together!_

I can't help feeling a pleasant warmth spread through my chest. It's excitement, yes, but something else as well. I have this new friend who's actually being an _active_ friend to me. It doesn't even seem as if Quinn is having to _tolerate_ me. It feels genuine and, yes, I'm a little wary of it, but I've decided to enjoy it.

 **Berry: I can assure you I'll never condone bunking, Quinn.**

 **Berry: How are you feeling today?**

I get a reply when I get to Calculus and I just manage to read it before the period starts.

 _Quinn: Just you wait, Berry :) I suppose I'm okay. Still a little numb, to be honest. See you in Spanish. X_

I'm not sure I like the idea of Quinn feeling numb, but then it's probably better than blinding rage, especially right now. The entire school has been buzzing about the incident in the cafeteria, and even I know I'll snap at anyone who asks me what it was all about. I mean, _I_ don't even know what it was really about. Quinn and I didn't really do much talking yesterday. Between the tears, her exhaustion and our homework, there wasn't much time. Even though she says we'll talk tonight, I doubt we'll have much time either. Her Cheerios practice is bound to run late.

The day itself is slow. Spanish is interesting in the fact that Quinn makes a point of stopping at my desk - bringing the entire room to a hush - and telling me that she's reconsidered skipping class and that I should learn from her and stay in school. I rolled my eyes, she pat my shoulder and all was well with the world.

Until World Geography with Kurt, that is.

I've barely managed to sit down before I'm being interrogated as if I know the answers to all the hard-hitting questions of life. "Okay, what do you know?" he asks, gripping my arm.

I frown, leaning back. "Uh, about what?"

"The breakup? The fight? Well, the yelling, or whatever that was yesterday? And why did you run off with Quinn like that?"

I suddenly have a headache. "Good morning to you too, Kurt," I say helpfully.

"Okay, yeah, whatever," he says with a lazy wave of his hand. "Care to tell me why you're suddenly on the _in_ with the most popular girls in school?"

"Well, Quinn and I have decided to be friends," I state, still a little in awe at the very idea of it.

Kurt looks confused. "That's it?" he asks. "Just like that?"

"Umm, yes," I say. "What were you expecting?"

He scratches his forehead. "Honestly, I don't even know what I was expecting," he confesses. "So, if you're now, uh, friends; does that mean you know all the juicy details about the breakup? I mean, I can only piece together the things I hear, but you have the story directly from the source. So... tell me why my stepbrother looks like a wounded puppy right now."

I shake my head, bristling slightly. "Kurt, I love you, but you know I'm not going to do that," I say. "Even if I did know anything, which I don't really, I wouldn't betray Quinn's trust like that."

He frowns. "You do know who we're talking about here, right? Quinn Fabray, Head-Bitch-In-Charge, bully to all Lima losers, right?"

Suddenly, I'm relieved that I asked Quinn to tell me who she is because she's so much more than Kurt's snarky assessment of her. I'm under no illusion that other people see her a certain way; in a way that she probably _wants_ them to, in order to hide who she truly is, so she doesn't get hurt. She lets people in slowly, through a thorough vetting process, and only the worthy ones get to stay. Only the worthy ones know to fight to stay as long as possible.

Finn is not worthy.

"Quinn's and my past doesn't factor into my decision not to divulge her secrets, Kurt," I say, my tone surprisingly cold. "We're trying to forge a friendship here. She's willing to try and so am I. Please don't ask me to tell you anything about her she's not willing to tell you herself."

"Damn," Kurt breathes. And that's all he says about it.

I'm exhausted by the time lunch rolls around. I didn't know school could feel like running a marathon but it does, and I have places to be. I drop my books off at my locker and then head straight to Quinn's. She's alone, sporting her patented don't-come-near-me expression and I find it a little amusing. I move to stand behind her and tap her shoulder. She spins around so fast, she almost clips her locker door. Her mouth opens to get the insult out but it dies on her lips at the sight of me. She falters completely, her shoulders jerking and the devastation clouding her features.

I wrap my arms around her before anyone can see her borderline breakdown, hiding her from curious eyes.

"I've got you," I murmur into her hair. "It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay."

She squeezes me tightly, and then releases me with a steady smile on her face. "Hello," she says softly, running her hands over her face.

"Hi," I breathe. "Rough day?"

She lets out what looks like an unexpected laugh, and _score one for Berry_. "You could say that, yes," she says, shaking her head. "Everyone thinks they know what happened, but I keep getting asked all sorts of inappropriate questions. Santana also says he's been trying to talk to me, but I'm never alone. I swear her and B were here moments before you showed up."

I drop my gaze.

"Which, I now know, was by design."

I smile innocently. "I know not of what you speak, Miss Fabray."

"Sure, you don't."

I hold out my arm. "I'm to escort you to the cafeteria and deposit you at your seat next to Santana without incident, otherwise I'm sure she'll find a truly creative way to bring about the end of my days."

"She won't hurt you," she says, closing her locker and slipping her arm through mine as we start on our way.

"I have irrational fears when it come to Santana Lopez," I confess.

"Do you have any when it comes to me?" she asks, her tone more serious than earlier. "Because I'd imagine you have fears, regardless of their rationality. I've been warned not to hurt you enough to realise that our sudden friendship hasn't gone unnoticed."

I frown. "Warned? By who?"

"Well, Britt for one," she says. "And Mercedes and Tina. Even Mr Schue."

"Wow."

She shrugs. "It's not unfounded, Rachel," she informs me. "You and I don't exactly have the best track record. Before Glee, I was a raging bitch to you, and I like to think I toned it down after I joined, and after Beth, but I don't remember being particularly _nice_. I'm sorry about that. I think I'm just, intrinsically, not a nice person, but I'm trying now. I really appreciate your giving me a chance." She takes a breath. "I realise we still have much to discuss, but I'm really enjoying the fact that we _can_ and we _will_ be able to talk about these things."

I blink.

She chuckles. "Say something."

"I don't know what to say."

"Oh my, I've broken Rachel Berry," she says, laughing lightly and looking genuinely amused.

I'm quickly coming to learn that Quinn has several different smiles. So far, I've discovered six of them. The first and, probably the scariest one, is when she's in full-on HBIC mode and the next words to leave her mouth are probably going to cut you. The second is the knowing smirk - it's not sinister, but still dangerous. The third is the one she reserves for Brittany. I didn't even know such a smile existed until I watched the two blondes interact. The fourth is the forced one; the one she slides onto her face when she's uncomfortable or in a new place. Then there's the playful, almost bashful smile that she pulls out when she's trying to be cute and flirty; and I'm convinced a full-blown one can kill a person. And then there's this one: this genuine, happy smile that makes her eyes shine bright and makes the world seem less frightening.

I stare at her.

She pulls us to a stop. "Wait. Did I actually break you?" she asks. "Rachel? Are you okay?"

I breathe out. "I'm fine," I finally say, forcing the words out. "You're just a little overwhelming."

Her eyes widen and she steps back. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says, trying to take her arm away, but I hold onto it. "I don't mean to - "

"No," I interrupt. "It's not in a bad way," I assure her. "I think it's just that I haven't quite had a friend like this before. It's new territory for me too, you know? Mercedes and Tina are great and all but I've never truly been able to talk to them. Kurt's an entirely different story. They all like their gossip, really, so I've never felt safe enough to discuss things. But, with you, it's not like that. I know it's all still new and all, but I trust you, Quinn. Somehow, for some reason, I just trust you, and that's what's overwhelming. But I like it. I really do." I tug on her arm and she steps back into my space. "I think, as long as we keep talking about things, this will turn into a very beautiful friendship."

She smiles at me, a little relieved. "Promise you'll tell me if it ever becomes too much, okay?"

"I promise."

And then we're on our way again. I can't help but think about how Quinn listens to me. I've been known for being rather verbose sometimes. I can ramble and rant and get lost in my words until people interrupt me, talk over me or just tell me to shut up. Quinn listens. I mean, sure, she's been known to interrupt, but it's different now. It's not done to hurt or diminish, and that makes all the difference.

When we get to the cafeteria, she doesn't even hesitate before pushing open the doors and walking through, her arm still linked with mine. People turn and stare but I try to pay them no attention. Quinn's expression is unreadable as she leads us to the food line, which isn't that long. She releases my arm to get trays for us, and looks at me, her back facing the front of the line.

"Question," she says; "how exactly does school food help with your vegan lifestyle?"

"It doesn't," I tell her, keeping my focus on only her. "I like salad though, so I make do. Sometimes I pack leftovers but I was in a bit of a rush this morning."

"Why?"

"Overslept."

She gives me a guilty look.

"Hey," I say. "It's up to me how late I stay up, all right?"

She nods.

I look past her shoulder. "We're up."

Quinn gathers a small Greek salad, a bottle of water and an apple. I get the same. While we're paying, she gives me her olives and I give her my feta cheese. She throws me one of those sixth, genuine smiles, and then we go to our separate tables. I know I'll have to field questions when I get to my friends, but I don't care.

I sit in an empty seat, ignore the pointed looks and take out my phone, sending off a quick text.

 **Berry: Tag. You're it.**

The reply arrives seconds later.

 _ **Santana: You are so weird. But thanks, Midget.**_

I shake my head and finally look up, to find eyes on me from _everywhere_. "Something wrong?" I ask innocently, lifting my fork and starting on my salad. I chance a quick look Quinn's way to see her sitting comfortably between Santana and Brittany, protected on both sides.

Artie recovers first. "No," he says. "It's just, well, we know you said you and Quinn and friends now, but..." he trails off.

"But what?"

"We didn't expect _that_ ," Tina finishes for him.

"Expect what?"

Kurt grumbles. "Seriously, Rach," he says; "does none of this seem weird to you? The whole school is confused. First, Finn and Quinn break up - still don't know the full story there - and now you and the Ice Queen are best buddies. Doesn't that raise red flags for you?"

"Not really."

He laughs. "Who are you and what have you done with Rachel Berry?"

I set my fork down purposefully. A quick glance at Quinn tells me she's locked in conversation with Brittany, her third smile in full swing. It's actually quite adorable the way their faces get so close to each other, as if they're telling each other secrets. "I've been trying to determine just where all this concern is coming from," I begin. "Is it really so inconceivable that Quinn Fabray might actually _want_ to be friends with me? I fully acknowledge that I'm _tolerated_ by most of you on my good days, so I imagine it must be weird to see another person - regardless of their social hierarchy - want to be my friend, right? That must be it, because I wouldn't imagine there would be any jealousy involved, would there?"

Their shocked expressions are priceless. I know I should feel bad about the 'double-slap' but I honestly don't. I worry if maybe that's Quinn rubbing off on me, but I accept the truth it isn't. This is all me. I need them to stop questioning my friendship with Quinn. If I get hurt by it, that's on me, and I will happily take each and every _I told you so_.

I resume eating in silence. It takes them a bit longer to recover. After a few minutes of pointless conversation, I turn to Kurt.

"Did you want to partner up for the project for World Geography?"

Kurt, not being one to decline an olive branch, takes it, and all is well once more. For a few minutes, at least. This has been the most tiring day, and I know it's only going to get worse when I spot Finn striding purposefully towards Quinn. I snatch up my phone and dial Santana.

The cheerleader looks confused before looking over at me. I point towards Finn, and her facial expression morphs into something dangerous when she spots him. She's out of her seat a beat later, intercepting the large quarterback and saying words to him I can't hear.

I look at Quinn, who's expression has changed to one of - I don't even recognise it. I'm typing before I even know what I'm doing.

 **Berry: You're okay.**

I look up to see her reaching for her phone. She smiles, and then looks at me, her gaze meeting mine across the cafeteria. She holds it for the longest time. I'm vaguely aware of Finn storming off, and then Santana's breaking into our spell. They talk for a moment, glance my way a few times, and then I get two separate texts.

 _ **Santana: Nice save, Hobbit.**_

 _Quinn: Rachel Berry, my hero. X_

* * *

When I predicted Cheerios practice would run late, I wasn't wrong. I've done all my homework - save for the precipitates - started on Kurt's and my project for World Geography and learned a new song by the time Quinn practically falls through my bedroom door and collapses on the carpet in a heap of legs and duffel bags.

I can't help my laugh as I swivel in my desk chair and look at her. "Hello, you."

She groans, her eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed. "Too sore to talk," she mumbles, and I slide off my chair to kneel at the side of her head.

"That bad, huh?" I ask, running a hand over her hair. It's damp with sweat, but I don't really care. "Want some ice?"

"Hug first."

"But you're all sweaty," I point out.

She opens one eye. "Hug me, Berry."

I let out a laugh as I drape my upper body over hers and practically press her into the carpet. She's burning hot and I feel it through our clothes. We stay in that position for such a long time that the heat of her is starting to make me sleepy. When my eyes droop closed, I reluctantly release her and sit up.

"Are you sleeping?" I ask her serene expression. When I get no response, I lean forward and press a kiss to her temple. I stand, fetch a throw and drape it over her still form before returning to my desk. Even as I work, I sneak glances at Quinn every few minutes, quietly marvelling at the oddity of this moment right here. Quinn Fabray - _Quinn Fabray_ \- is asleep on my floor right now. Who would have thought?

Half an hour later, Quinn wakes with a start, her head whipping to the side and knocking the post of my bed. She just seems like the type to injure herself constantly. "Oh, God," she groans.

I swallow my laugh and move towards her, dropping to my knees. Gosh, she's so cute like this; like a toddler just emerging from a nap. She's rubbing her head with her left hand, as she uses her right to push herself onto her knees, and then lifts her torso so she's kneeling in front of me.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"If you suggest an Advil, I think I'm going to scream," she says grumpily, and I bite my bottom lip to stop my giggle. "Just laugh, Berry. We both know you want to."

"But I can't," I say. "You're hurt."

Her gaze meets mine, and her smile is genuine. "Hello."

"Hi," I breathe. "How bad is it?"

"It's detracting from the rest of my body," she says, giving her head one last rub before retracting her hand. "I fell asleep."

"You did."

"You were on top of me."

"I was."

"You're very comfortable."

"I am."

We stare at each other for the longest moment, and then we both burst out laughing. I double over, clutching at my stomach as I try to get control of myself. It's a futile attempt. We just laugh and laugh until my Daddy comes to check on us, his eyebrows up to his hairline at the absurdity he's witnessing.

"Dinner's ready, by the way," he finally says, realising we've probably lost our minds, and then leaves.

Every time one of us recovers, it starts up again. I swear we laugh for close to ten minutes. My cheeks hurt and I think I'm crying. When we do finally get ourselves under control, Quinn shuffles towards me and wipes my cheeks with the pads of her thumbs.

"Do you have any idea how pretty you are when you laugh?" she asks, her eyes on my face.

"Even the ugly laugh?" I joke to try to lessen this moment.

"Even then," she assures me, and then stands up and goes into the bathroom.

I get up too, check my face in the mirror in my closet, and then go downstairs. My dads are already seated, casually picking at food as they wait for us. "Sorry," I say. "We were - " I stop. "I don't even know what we were doing, to be honest."

"Acting like teenagers," my Daddy offers.

"Hooligans," my Dad quips.

They laugh.

"I'm just glad to hear some laughter instead of tears," my Daddy says, and I have to agree with him. These past few days have been the kind of emotional that burns the insides of your eyelids just thinking about it. "Is Quinn coming down?"

"I'm coming!" we hear from the stairs, then the squeak, and we're presented with a fresh looking Quinn Fabray. She's wearing smile number six and it makes my heart skip a beat. If I wasn't paying attention, I'm sure this girl would give me whiplash.

"There you are," my Dad says. "Come. Sit. I need to talk to you about something."

Quinn's face falls. "Oh."

From her reaction, my Dad immediately backtracks. "Oh, Sweetie, it's nothing bad," he assures her. "Don't look so nervous. Quinn. Just come sit."

Quinn's eyes meet mine, but I'm as lost as she is. She moves to sit down next to me, her hand immediately reaching for mine under the table and she rests them both on the top of her thigh. "Nothing bad, right? You're not kicking me out or something?"

"Of course not," my Daddy says, looking alarmed. "We would never do that, Quinn."

She looks so small right now, and I just want to bury her in a hug. "Never?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper.

My dads exchange a look.

My Dad leans forward. "Hey, look, I'm sorry I'm making you worry," he says. "You're not going anywhere, okay? You're one of ours now. We've claimed you. You have no choice in the matter. You stay."

She just nods, her hand squeezing mine.

My Daddy starts us eating, and the moment dissipates into the air as we talk about school and Glee. My Daddy also asks Quinn about Cheerios practice and, after a little laugh, she surprises us all.

"I'd say it went well," she says. "Only one girl threw up. Nobody passed out. There was one cat fight - Sylvester likes to provoke them to ween out the weak ones - and I didn't lose my voice from shouting at them as much as I usually have to." She looks so calm, almost resigned to what she's just said that it probably doesn't sound that absurd to her.

"Wow," my Daddy says.

I stare at her. I mean, I sort of always knew the Cheerios practices were intense but this just sounds like torture. Voluntary torture. She _wants_ to be a Cheerio. She even looks like she enjoys it.

"So, how often do you practice?" my Dad ventures to ask.

"It really depends on how close we are to competitions," she answers easily. "Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, Wednesday and Friday mornings, and then Saturday as well. That practice can go on for up to six hours if Sylvester sees something she doesn't like, which she usually does."

My Dad just stares at her for a moment, and then he leans forward and pokes Quinn's bicep. She giggles. "And you do Glee?"

She nods. "Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays," she says, popping a cube of butternut into her mouth.

"You're definitely a busy girl," my Daddy says.

" _And_ she's student class president," I add. "With a four-point-oh GPA."

"Rachel," she hisses, her cheeks aflame.

"She's been Head Cheerleader since she was a sophomore," I continue anyway. "And she's practically a shoe-in for Valedictorian."

Quinn buries her face in her hands. "This is so embarrassing."

"Don't be embarrassed," my Daddy says. "You should be proud of yourself, Quinn. Be proud of your accomplishments. We are."

She drops her hands and sits up straight. "Thank you, LeRoy," she says. "I try to tell myself it doesn't matter that my family doesn't acknowledge all the good I've done, but it does. Late at night, I wonder if they'll ever see past the fact that I ended up sixteen and pregnant, and homeless." She falls silent. "So, thank you, truly. It means a lot to me."

I want to bury her in a hug but I don't think I would be able to let go.

My Dad clears his throat. "So, that thing I wanted to talk to you about," he starts and Quinn looks at him, more sure of herself. "I know you have a crazy schedule but I have this student over at the college who has a brilliant mind and work ethic. She always participates in verbal discussions and has all these opinions that really just awe me sometimes. Unfortunately, the largest component of her mark is dependent on her written work, which, admittedly, is poor. She's an immigrant."

Quinn and I just nod, showing him we're still listening and following.

"She's smart," he continues. "I think she just needs some guidance. I offered her help but I think she's uncomfortable being alone with an older man, regardless of my profession. I was wondering if you would consider meeting with her, maybe try to evaluate if you _can_ help her. It doesn't have to be anything time-consuming or permanent; just to see if - "

"Sure," Quinn says, interrupting with a smile. "How's about this Saturday, in the afternoon? Does that sound okay?"

My Dad sputters. "Oh, okay, that's wonderful," he says, clearly not expecting her to agree so easily. "I'll set it up. Thank you."

I glance at him, and he shoots me a knowing smile. Gosh, could he be any less subtle? After dinner, Quinn and I go up to my room. I fiddle with her iPod while she does her homework. It's just easy and comfortable and, when she's done, she beckons me to the bed and we lie down facing each other. We're going to talk.

"Thank you for today," she starts, her fingers trailing over the skin of my forearm between us. "I don't think I can ever say thank you enough for all you've done and are still continuing to do. If I'm a mess when I'm with you; imagine what I would be like without you."

"I have imagined it," I tell her, and she waits for me to elaborate. "I think, honestly, you would be fine," I tell her. "At least, on the outside. You would build up those walls and just face the days without allowing yourself to grieve the end of your relationship." She drops her gaze. "It would eat at your insides. You might have lashed out in some way, dyed your hair, gotten a tattoo or a piercing, who knows?"

She swallows. "I hate that he has so much power over me."

"That's what happens when you choose to love someone, Quinn," I say. "Admittedly, I don't know much about long-term relationships, but it's the risk you take to find the person you're going to be with forever. I think there's something beautiful about it, you know? This risk you take, putting yourself out there, allowing someone to know you, on this quest to be _happy_. Sure, you'll probably get burned a few times, but your strength is in the fact that you keep going; you keep searching, and that person is out there. I just know it."

She breathes out. "I think I've sworn off boys for a while," she says.

"Understandable."

She traps her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. "We should have a girls' night," she says. "A sleepover, on Saturday. What do you think?"

I drop my gaze.

"Hey," she says, touching my cheek. "What's wrong?"

I don't even know what words to use.

"We can also _not_ have one," she offers slowly. "I just thought, you know, it might be nice. Britt has been asking about you nonstop; I think my ears are bleeding."

I laugh. "Are you sure you'd be okay with that? And Santana?"

She nods. "We can even have it at Santana's house, which she'll just love," she says cheekily. "I mean, I'm sure you can invite Tina and Mercedes, even Kurt, if you want to," she offers.

I grimace.

"Okay... what's that face for?"

I clear my throat. "Um, so, I may or may not have been severely passive aggressive with them at lunch today," I say, and she waits. I sigh and tell her what I said when they kept asking me about our new friendship. Let's just say I don't expect her laughter.

"That's brilliant," she says, wheezing slightly. "Oh, you beautiful, wonderful human being."

I blush.

"I'm sorry our friendship has caused you so much stress."

"I wouldn't change a thing."

"Good."

I hum against the feel of her hand on my cheek.

"He told his teammates he broke up with me because I cheated on him."

My eyes fly open, and I practically leap off the bed. "He did _what_?" I screech. "Oh, that miserable, horrible, excuse of a - "

"Rachel," she interrupts, sitting up and looking at me curiously. "Easy there, superstar."

I shake me head. "I don't - I don't even know what to think or say right now." I sigh. "How are you, really?"

"I don't think I can quite make sense of it all," she confesses. "There's the boy I know and love, and then there's _this_. I guess I'm not ready for the moment the two boys become one in my mind."

That makes sense.

"Now, come back here," she says, her playful smile in full effect. "We have to plan our girls' night."

* * *

Wednesday is the kind of day that shouldn't exist. Things between Finn and Quinn are still tense, which makes Glee something awful. Finn tries to talk to Quinn _all day_ , and Santana and I are pretty much ready to wring his neck by the time Mr Schuester dismisses us.

Quinn follows me home in her car. We're all performing a group piece on Friday, but I have a Solo I've been preparing. I haven't told Quinn about it, mainly because it's _for_ her. I don't know if she'll like it, or appreciate it. Still, I've prepared it.

Despite the tense day, she seems better. Not as tired, a lot more present. She even has a conversation with my Daddy about Blues music while my Dad and I do the dishes after dinner. I can hear them talking but not what they're saying. I'm just enjoying the sound of their voices, the teasing and the laughter. I don't know how having Quinn here can make it feel _more_ like home.

"What has you smiling like that?" my Dad asks, handing me a wet plate to dry.

"I don't even know," I admit. "Don't you just feel... happy?"

He lets out a laugh. "Sure, Sweetie, I feel... happy."

I roll my eyes before I turn to look at him, all serious. "So, I need to talk to you about something."

His face falls, his brow furrowing.

I raise my own eyebrows. "See, it's not very nice, is it?"

It takes him a moment, and then he breathes out. "No, it's really not," he says. "I shall refrain from doing that in the future. Particularly to Quinn."

"Thank you."

He worries his bottom lip. "Have you spoken to her about what she revealed yesterday about her family?"

"Not exactly," I say, and it's the truth. "There are a few more pressing issues at the moment."

"Like ex-boyfriends and sleepovers?"

I nod. "Exactly."

* * *

Quinn doesn't come over on Thursday. Her Cheerios practice runs late and it doesn't make sense for her to come to my house just to go to hers within the hour - my dads set a curfew for her, unless she's staying the night. They don't want her out and about too late at night. She almost teared up when they sat her down and explained the decision to her.

I suppose it's foreign to her having people care about her this way.

I'm not prepared for how it feels not having her around in the evening. She may be quiet and understated, but her presence is mammoth. She's already seeped into the foundation of our house, and dinner is a quiet affair even if I chatter on and on about the new choreography I'm learning in my dance class. It just isn't the same and we all know it. It's as if we adopted this person, and now they've just left us.

"She's coming back," I assure my dads, and we all share a laugh.

When I get back to my room, I just have to make sure. I feel a little uneasy. Like, maybe the bubble has burst and she's just now realised that she's made a mistake agreeing to be friends with me.

 **Berry: Daddy asked if you are, in fact, coming back. I said yes. Did I lie?**

The text goes unanswered until just after ten o'clock, and I've worked myself into quite the panic.

 _Quinn: Pick up the phone._

And then she's calling.

"Hello," I answer, a little hesitant.

"Hey," she breathes, and it's Quinn. She's on the phone. I'm talking to her, and she sounds so... normal. "Sorry I didn't reply. Sylvester had us working on new choreography until late and I didn't check my phone until now. I just got home."

My eyes widen as I check the time. "What?"

She laughs.

"Have you eaten?"

"Uh, no," she says.

"Do you want me to bring you something?"

"I'm pretty sure it's almost past our curfew, Berry," she teases. "But no, I'm fine, thank you. There should be something in the fridge. I can make a sandwich or scramble some eggs."

I close my eyes, hating this. "Where's your mom?"

"I don't know," she confesses with a huff. "She could be somewhere in the house, for all I know."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I am," she assures me. "Just a little tired. I think I'm going to get something to eat, have a nice long shower and then crawl into bed. I just wanted to respond to your text and say, yes, I'm definitely coming back. I belong to your guys now, remember? I'm yours, Berry. Can't get rid of me that easily."

My heart rate rises dangerously. She's _ours_.

"So, let me go," she says. "I'll text you later, okay?"

"Okay."

"Night, Rachel."

"Goodnight, Quinn."

When she hangs up, my heartbeat hasn't settled. It's amazing what she can do without actually being in the room. I wait up for her text, which arrives at half past eleven. I'm lying in bed, staring at my stars and waiting. When my phone buzzes, I immediately reach for it.

 _Quinn: All is well, little star. I'm fed and clean and tucked in bed WITH my homework done. You can rest easy._

I huff out a breath as I type out a reply.

 **Berry: Why do I even bother?**

 _Quinn: Because you're secretly in love with me ;)_

My breath hitches.

 _Quinn: Rachel Berry, my hero :)_

 _Quinn: Goodnight. X_

I swallow audibly.

 **Berry: Goodnight, Quinn, dream sweetly :)**

I set my phone aside, roll over and try not to think about girls with hazel eyes and the word 'love.'

* * *

Friday's lunch finds me switching out with Santana and Brittany at Quinn's locker. We've fallen into a little rhythm now, which is why it's always so amusing whenever Quinn is surprised by my arrival at her locker. Every. Time.

"So," I say, startling her. It's actually one of my favourite things to do, though I'll never admit that to her. "Daddy sent lunch for you."

She turns around so quickly, she almost knocks her locker door with her forehead. Seriously, one of these days, she's really going to hurt herself. "He did?"

I nod.

"What is it?" she asks, eager for the information. It's so cute. "He mentioned he was going to try making that chilli-paste stir-fry the other day. Did he? Tell me he did."

I grin at her. "He did."

She actually jumps in her excitement, and I honestly don't think I've seen her so... animated. Over food, no less. "I know this is sad, but it's literally the most excited I've been since - " she stops suddenly, glancing at a spot over my shoulder. "Oh."

"What?" I ask, turning around to spot Finn headed towards us. No, no, no. "I'll get rid of him," I say, but she puts a hand on my forearm.

"No, Rachel," she says quietly. "He's not going to give it up, and you and San can't keep doing this for the rest of the year. Let me just hear whatever he wants to say and then we can all just relax, okay?"

I want to protest. Santana would want me to protest, but the look in Quinn's eyes stops me. She looks so sure, determined even, and prepared. _This_ is the reason Santana, Brittany and I have been working so hard to keep Finn away from her: it's to get her to _this_ point. A point where she's _ready_.

Which is why she steps away from me, straightens her spine and addresses Finn before he can get a word out.

"We should probably talk."


	7. seven

**Chapter Seven**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _but this was never a relationship.  
_ _i have no idea who you are._

 _._

My fingers are twitching at my sides. I can barely look at him without my stomach churning in a nasty way. We go into an empty classroom, and I position myself to be able to see out the door where Rachel is standing and peering in, making sure I'm okay.

Honestly, I'm the furthest thing from okay right now.

"What do you want to talk about?" I ask tensely, keeping my gaze locked on his chest. "It's been seven days. I can't imagine there's anything more you want to say to me, because I honestly think you've said more than enough. To various parties."

He sighs. "Don't be like that."

"Be like what?" I ask, my voice still light, though there's an edge to it. "Truthful? I mean, what did you expect? I don't _want_ to talk to you but you don't seem to be getting the hint. Can we please just get this over with so I can get some lunch?"

He runs a hand through his hair, and I acknowledge that just seven days ago, I probably would have swooned or something equally ridiculous like that. "Look, I just - " he stops. "I'm sorry."

I deflate.

He presses his lips together, because I'm looking at his mouth now. I'm not ready for the eyes. "I'm sorry, Quinn," he says again, and he sounds so sincere, it almost untethers me. "I did it all wrong, okay? I panicked. Everyone was laughing and I wanted them to stop. They don't understand. Sometimes, even I don't understand. I just wanted them to back off and I said something stupid that I never should have said, and I'm sorry."

I swallow audibly before I finally meet his gaze. It's a bit of a shock, really, because he _looks_ like he's sorry.

"I wasn't thinking," he continues. "Or, I was just thinking about myself. I tried to get them to shut up about it, but Puck is an asshole and he never should have said those things to you. We've had words about it."

"Punches, you mean."

He gives me a small, lopsided smile, and I remember why we can be good together. "Something like that."

"Did you clear everything up then?"

When he hesitates, the bottom drops out of my stomach and I feel as if I've been sucker-punched. My facial expression must change because he hurries to explain. "You know how it is, Quinn. Once it's out there, there's no stopping it."

I take a breath, one, two, and then level him with the type of glare that makes him cower. "You listen to me, Finn Hudson," I say, my voice gritty. "If you don't fix this mess you've made, I will do it for you, and I will make you look worse than you've _ever_ made me look. Do I make myself clear?"

He nods dumbly.

I retract my claws. "Now, if we're done here, Rachel's waiting for - "

"Wait," he says, interrupting me.

All I want to do is get out of here so I can deal with the fact he was prepared to allow his teammates to keep thinking I was a cheater without him seeing; possibly with Rachel. He isn't allowed to see how this all affects me. I won't let him.

"What?" I bark.

His eyes narrow. "Stay away from Rachel."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Okay, I was not expecting that. "Excuse me?"

"I said, stay away from Rachel," he repeats. "She doesn't deserve whatever sick, twisted thing you have planned for her just because you and I can't seem to get along."

Now, I've been shocked by many things that have left his mouth before, but this one is definitely in the top five. I square my shoulders and face him. "I'm afraid you're going to have to unpack that one for me," I say in a monotone. "Exactly what are you trying to say to me? And I would tread carefully, because I am severely pissed off right now, and I won't be held accountable for your injuries."

"Just stay away from her," he repeats. "She doesn't deserve your bullshit. Nobody does."

I stare at him for the longest time, suddenly seeing a stranger. "What happened to you?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "You have no fucking clue, do you?"

"Obviously not."

"You did, Quinn," he says tiredly. " _You_ happened to me." And then he walks out, leaving me to wonder what unforgivable thing I did to him that would result in _this_. He's acting as if I single-handedly ruined his life, which is preposterous because I'm pretty sure I single-handedly _built_ his high school life. The ungrateful bastard.

I turn to the door when I hear raised voices, and then rush out when I realise it's Finn and Rachel. They're yelling at each other, about _me_.

"Don't, Rachel," Finn says. "She's just going to hurt you, and we all know it. She's just using you."

I don't even know what I did to make him hate me so much. He looks _very_ different to the boy who was just apologising for telling people I cheated on him. Is he having some kind of pre-life crisis or something?

"Get out while you still can," Finn continues. "She's good at this part, but she starts to dictate everything, and then she'll just consume you. Don't do it, Rachel. Save yourself."

"Quinn," Rachel says, looking at me.

I don't know what to say to her. I'm just as stunned as she is.

Sensing _my_ distress, Rachel steps back from Finn, eyeing him with all the HBIC she has - which, admittedly, isn't much - and Finn stops speaking. " _Obviously_ ," she starts, "you're out to poison Quinn's name, and I have no idea why. _Clearly_ , she doesn't either, so whatever grievances you've made up in your head are invalid here. Quinn is my friend. Right now, with the way you're acting, you are making it very difficult to remain mine. Get a grip of yourself, Finn, because you're just making a damn fool of yourself." And then she's walking towards me and holding out her arm. "I believe we have lunch waiting for us."

I'm stunned for a beat, and then I slip my arm through hers. She leads the way down the corridor, and I let out the breath I've been holding only when we turn the corner. She pulls us to a stop and studies my face intently.

"Are you okay?" she asks, reaching out to touch my cheek.

"Are you?" I counter.

"He said some things," she says.

"Yes, he did."

"He's an idiot if he thinks I'm bowing out of this friendship now," she says, seriously. "Didn't you hear? You're mine now."

I can't stop my smile. "I'm sorry he said those things to you, Rachel," I say.

"He said some things to you too, didn't he?"

I nod. "First he apologised for telling people I cheated on him, which was sincere, but then he hesitated on the taking-it-back part." I shake my head. "He just seems so angry, and I don't know why. I keep thinking I must have done something, because it seems like all he wants to do is _hurt me_."

"Maybe something's going on that he doesn't want you to know about," she offers.

"I was thinking that maybe he's so fixated on the whole cheating thing because _he's_ actually the one who cheated on _me_ ," I say, my voice so soft, I'm surprised she hears me. "And he's so angry with himself for doing it, which is why he's blaming _me_ , as if my actions or lack of actions _made_ him do it. So he broke up with me to spare me, but he can't quite get over the fact that he still believes _I_ made him do something that immoral."

She looks thoughtful. "Your theory has merit," she eventually says. "How would you feel if it _were_ true?"

"I don't know," I say because I really don't know. I haven't spent nearly enough time thinking about it, given everything else going on. I feel _full_ of emotions that just aren't being resolved. "I really don't know."

"Well," she sounds, smiling gently. "We can discuss it over lunch."

I beam, remembering. "Can we go to the choir room? I don't really feel like dealing with the cafeteria right now."

"Of course," she says; "let me just text Santana."

I can't help my laugh as we start on our way again and she takes out her phone. "I really don't know how I feel about all this Quinn-management going on between the two of you."

She glances at me, mid-text. "Oh, would you rather the two of us not get along, and just bicker around you while you try to get a handle on things by yourself?"

I roll my eyes. "Dramatic much?"

She giggles, but says nothing as we stop by her locker and then make our way to the choir room. Thankfully, it's empty, and the two of us move to the corner you can't see when you walk past the door. After the week we've had, some privacy is nice. I wait patiently as she sorts out the food, separating and adding the sauce. My smile is practically splitting my face when she hands me a bowl.

"I love LeRoy," I say, taking it from her and breathing in deep. "It smells _so_ good. He put in extra ginger, didn't he?"

"How would I know?" Her eyes are smiling. "Do you want some chopsticks?"

"Any other day, yes," I say; "but I'm too hungry and not skilled enough for chopsticks right now."

She hands me a fork, which prompts me to say a quick prayer, cross my chest and start eating.

"Whoa," she suddenly says. "Chew your food, Fabray; don't inhale it."

I let out a laugh, but ultimately do slow down. I should savour it, shouldn't I? "I'm sorry, it just tastes so good."

"It's like you've never had food before," she teases.

I don't tell her about my abysmal dinner the previous night. She'll just feel bad, or get mad, which are both things I don't want to happen. I like seeing her smile, more so when that megawatt smile is aimed at me; _because_ of me. "Give me your phone," I suddenly say.

She hesitates for only a moment before she's handing it to me. "What are you going to do?" she asks.

"Just want to send your fathers' contacts to my phone," I tell her. "I want to be able to tell them thank you without the middle man."

She smiles at me; it's dimmer, more content, and it settles deep in my heart. I put that smile there. When I'm done, I give her phone back and resume eating. I've never been afraid of silence with Rachel. For so long, I imagined she was a non-stop talker, needing to fill the quiet constantly, but she's not like that at all. Does she talk a lot? Yes. Is it constant? Sometimes. Does it matter to me? Not anymore.

"So, plans for tonight?" she says after a while.

I spend a moment thinking about it. "I'll go home after Glee," I tell her. "I'll pack some clothes for the weekend, come back to cheer at the game and then I'll be with you until Sunday morning. Is that okay?"

"Perfect." Then: "Maybe we can go to your spot after you're done with church?"

"I'd like that."

When lunch is over and I'm beyond satisfied, we stop by our lockers and she walks me to Biology. I have to remind her Finn isn't actively seeking me out anymore and she reminds me that Finn isn't the reason she's my friend. Even as she says the words, we both know they're not true. However inadvertently, my breakup with Finn has led to this friendship with Rachel.

I don't know how I feel about that.

"See you in Glee," she says, refusing to comment on what we're both thinking.

It's something to think about though, isn't it? I head into class feeling a lot of things. I can't seem to make sense of them but I've always been content enough to ignore them. I'll unpack them on Sunday, I decide. First, I need to get through the rest of this day without further incident.

And, for the most part, that _does_ happen. Despite Finn's earlier freakout, I'm not worried about Glee practice. I actually find I'm looking forward to it... because I'm going to hear Rachel sing. First, though, we do our group number, which goes quite well, considering all the tension in the air. Mercedes and Kurt sing a duet. Artie sings a piece that fills the room and gets people up and dancing. Even Mr Schuester blesses us with a few bars.

And then there's Rachel.

She raises her hand from her position beside me. "I'd like to perform a song, Mr Schue," she says, and she's trying not to look at me. It's cute how hard it seems to be.

Mr Schuester beams at her. "Of course, Rachel," he says. "The floor's yours. Whenever you're ready."

As she stands, she pats my leg, and then makes her way to the front of the choir room. She hands the music to Brad, the pianist, who hands the various sheets to the other musicians. Rachel looks to be in her element, discussing a few things with them before turning to face us again.

"I'm not entirely sure how this song fits into the assignment for this week," she begins; "but I _do_ think it's fitting for the _events_ of this week." Her eyes meet mine and I raise my eyebrows in question. She just smiles, and then starts to sing No Doubt's _Don't Speak_. What a special kid.

" _You and me, we used to be together. Everyday, together, always_ ," she starts, and she's still looking at me. " _I really feel that I'm losing my best friend. I can't believe this could be the end. It looks as though you're letting go, and, if it's real, well, I don't want to know_." She winks once, and then looks away: Finn's way. Such a diva. " _Don't speak. I know just what you're saying, so please stop explaining. Don't tell me 'cause it hurts. Don't speak, I know what you're thinking. I don't need your reasons. Don't tell me 'cause it hurts._

" _Our memories, they can be inviting, but some are altogether mighty frightening. As we die, both you and I, with my head in my hands, I sit and cry. Don't speak. I know just what you're saying, so please stop explaining. Don't tell me 'cause it hurts._ "

Mercedes and Kurt join in, harmonising seamlessly. " _No, no, no_."

" _Don't speak, I know what you're thinking. I don't need your reasons. Don't tell me 'cause it hurts." Rachel takes a breath. "It's all ending. We gotta stop pretending who we are. You and me, I can see us dying. Are we?_ "

Now, all three of them sing the chorus. " _Don't speak. I know just what you're saying, so please stop explaining. Don't tell me 'cause it hurts_."

Santana and Brittany join in now. " _No, no, no_."

" _Don't speak, I know what you're thinking. I don't need your reasons. Don't tell me 'cause it hurts. Don't tell me 'cause it hurts!_ " Rachel's eyes are on me again, and they're shining with something I can't quite decipher. " _I know what you're saying, so please stop explaining. Don't speak, don't speak, don't speak, oh. I know what you're thinking, and I don't need your reasons. I know you're good, I know you're good, I know you're real good, oh._ "

All of Glee has joined in now - save for me, Finn and Mr Schuester - and it's beautiful, poignant and perfect. " _La, la, la, la, la, la. La, la, la, la, la, la. Don't, don't, uh-huh. Hush, hush darlin'. Hush, hush darlin'. Hush, hush. Don't tell me 'cause it hurts. Hush, hush darlin'. Hush, hush darlin'. Hush, hush. Don't tell me 'cause it hurts_." Rachel ends the song with another wink my way, and I'm standing and clapping in the next beat.

Mr Schuester is whooping, with a fist in the air and I _really_ don't care about Finn right now. He can scowl all he wants. My eyes are on Rachel.

"That was amazing," I say, stepping down off the risers.

"It was for you," she says, suddenly shy, which is amazing given the attitude she was just displaying.

"Why, thank you, Miss Berry."

She pulls me into a hug, squeezing tightly, and then releases me, her eyes meeting mine. "You're very welcome, Miss Fabray."

* * *

When Rachel's alarm first goes off, one of us groans. It's probably me.

I feel her press a finger into my ribs. "Up you get," she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep. "Get up, Quinn. Shower, breakfast, practice. Go."

I bury my face in my pillow, unmoving. "I don't want to," I say, which just comes out as: " _Idowana_." How she understands me, I'll never know.

"You _have_ to," she says. "You're the Captain, and Coach Sylvester will skin you alive if you're late."

"But you're so warm."

"I will kick you out of this bed if you don't get your butt moving, Fabray," she threatens, but it sounds more cute than anything. It's like a kitten threatening you, really. As a reward for my thoughts, I get another, much harder, poke to my ribs, and I squirm. Well well well, it seems our little kitten has claws.

"Okay," I say with a sigh as I roll out of bed and trudge to the bathroom. I'm exhausted - I feel like my life is one long complaint about exhaustion - because Rachel and I stayed up late talking. Just talking, in her bed, when we were supposed to be sleeping. Honestly, I don't even know how we get to the topics we eventually discuss, but I wouldn't change it for the world. It's just really nice being able to _talk_ to somebody.

She's still in bed when I emerge, dressed in a tank top and my McKinley sweatpants. I pad across the carpet towards her, intent on a tickle attack, but her eyes fly open when she hears me coming and she immediately scrambles away.

"Quinn Fabray," she warns, getting up off the bed. "If you tickle me, I am not responsible for your injuries."

I arch an eyebrow. "And what if I just wanted to hug you goodbye?" I ask, as innocently as ever.

Her mouth opens and closes before her eyes narrow. "Don't try to be cute with me," she says. "I know exactly what you were trying to do."

I just smile at her. "Are you having breakfast with me, or are you staying in bed?"

"That depends... are you going to try to tickle me?"

"I'm definitely going to try to hug you."

"Then I'm coming downstairs. Just let me pop into the bathroom."

I'm left to marvel at just how easy this all is. There's no awkwardness and no attempts at feeling each other out. Somehow, things seem to fit together. _We_ fit together. I head downstairs to an empty kitchen and start preparing two fruit bowls. Rachel prefers kiwis, and I'm more the fan of mangoes and I throw in all the other good stuff - except bananas; nobody needs that. I've just set the bowls out when Rachel comes into the kitchen, dressed in her own workout clothes.

"Elliptical?" I question, taking out two cups from the cabinet for coffee.

"I think I might go for a run," she says, taking the milk and yoghurt out of the fridge for me. "To the park and back."

I pour our coffee. "When was the last time you ran?"

She bites her bottom lip, visibly thinking. "Um, that one time we had to run the cross country course for gym," she says.

"Wasn't that last year?"

"So?"

I shake my head. "Nothing."

Breakfast is quiet. Rachel _can_ be mellow in the morning when she chooses to be, and I suppose it helps that her mouth is occupied with fruit pieces. When I have to leave, I get walked to my car, a kiss on my cheek and then sent off with a packed snack and three bottles of water. I have a feeling Coach Sylvester is in for us today, given the debacle that was the weigh-in on Thursday. _Six_ cheerleaders went up. _Four_ stayed exactly the same, and everyone else managed to lose only an ounce of weight. Let's just say Coach Sylvester was _mad_.

And it seems her mood has carried over to the weekend, because the woman is already barking orders through her megaphone at two freshman Cheerios who deigned to arrive at practice first. Serves them right.

Coach Sylvester seems to perk up when she sees me, which is equal parts terrifying and a relief. She talks _at_ me about what we have to get through today, which is mainly to teach the other cheerleaders what she, Brittany and I worked out for the additional choreography on Thursday. Brittany's ideas are amazing and relatively easy to understand, but some of the other cheerleaders just aren't that good at picking up choreography. Dancing, yes; following steps, no. It's exhausting work helping them get it, but I feel a certain and wonderful sense of self whenever they do.

By noon, the groundwork has been laid, but our first run-through is a complete and utter disaster. Coach Sylvester is so disturbed by it that she makes us run laps until she gets bored. Two girls end up throwing up - poor Lauren and Jessica - and Ashleigh actually passes out. I'm at her side with smelling salts immediately - I've learned to carry them in my duffel now - and then we call it a day. I clear up the equipment while the girls hit the showers. I'm contemplating just showering back at the Berry house.

"Oi, Q!"

I turn towards the voice. Santana and Brittany are approaching me, still in their sweats as well. "What's up, guys?"

"We're going to head to mine," Santana says, her arm draped around Brittany's waist. "Since you and the midget are going to be around tonight, I have to get my mack on right now."

I scrunch up my face. "Thank you for that, Santana."

"You're welcome."

Brittany throws me a happy smile, which I return, and then they're gone. Santana is like a hurricane sometimes, leaving destruction in her path, but I can't help but marvel at how _sure_ she is, about Brittany and about herself. Now that she's out and proud, it _would_ be worth it to consider how that's affected her behaviour in class and in Glee. It's been clear for years to see just how much of an effect Brittany has on Santana and her projected mood. I wonder if I'll be able to get Brittany to keep her Latina from being _too_ snarky to Rachel tonight. They're all my friends now, and I just want them to get along.

LeRoy is in the kitchen when I get back to the Berry home. He's chopping vegetables and looking very much in his element with his 'Kiss the Chef' apron.

"How was practice?" he asks.

"Painful," I grumble.

"I can only imagine."

"I'm going to shower and change, and then I'll come down and help," I tell him.

"Send the other one down in the mean time, will you?"

"Will do."

Rachel is sprawled across her bed when I get upstairs. She's just lying there, somewhat spread-eagled, with a slight grimace on her face. I recognise that kind of grimace and I can't stop my smile if I tried.

"Hello, you," I say, entering the room. "How was your morning?"

She groans unintelligibly.

"That bad, huh?" I ask, moving to stand over her so I can be in her line of sight. "And the run?"

She groans again, lifting an arm to cover her eyes. I laugh out loud. "Why didn't you tell me it was a bad idea?" she questions. "I feel like death. I don't think I could move my legs if I tried." Slowly, she sits up to look at me. "I mean, I like to think I'm relatively fit, Quinn, but running is not a joke. I think I'm going to develop bruises from all the impact injuries I suffered."

"Wow," I breathe. "Dramatic much?"

She huffs. "How was your practice?"

"I _definitely_ have bruises," I reply with a shrug. "I'm going to shower. LeRoy wants you downstairs."

"But I can't move."

I shake my head as I back away. "I did my part; I told you," I say, innocently waving my hands. "See you in a few minutes."

I use the shower to help clear my head and ease the tension in my tight muscles. My shoulders are almost screaming at me and the balls of my feet are aching. Truthfully, I feel like an old lady, only with the inability to pull off a purple pantsuit. Instead, I wear a baby yellow sundress, matched with my dark blue blazer and white wedges. I think I look okay, but I'm still a little nervous about making first impressions when I meet Hiram's student, Florence.

All three occupants of the house are downstairs when I finally emerge, and I get soft smiles out of all of them.

"Well, don't you look lovely?" Hiram says, twirling me.

I blush, mumble a thank you and then sit next to Rachel at the breakfast nook. "How're the legs?" I ask her.

She ignores my question. "You look very pretty, Quinn," she says. "Like sunshine."

"Thank you." My blush doesn't let up even once during lunch. I don't know what it is about today, but the three of them are unafraid to hand out compliments as if they're just having a normal conversation with one another, which, I realise rather belatedly, is exactly what they're doing.

Hiram and I set out about an hour later. I'm meeting Florence in his office today, and then we'll make other plans if we think we can work together. I'll admit to being a little nervous about it, but I still sit up straight, clutch my small notebook and pen in my hands and try not to let it show. She's already there when we arrive and Hiram makes the introductions before he leaves us to it.

I invite her to sit with me at the little round table in Hiram's office. She looks almost as nervous as I feel, but she grows into the conversation as I ask her questions unrelated to her schoolwork or family. It doesn't take me long to realise Hiram was right about her - verbally, her expression is amazing, maybe just lacking vocabulary. She reminds me of Brittany in a way; incredibly intelligent, just misunderstood.

I worry about our age difference. She's five years older than me, but she doesn't seem to mind that. I don't really know what she might want from me, so I just ask her. She has a list. I'm a fan of lists, and I just know we're going to get along.

Florence and I are in the middle of one of those lists when Hiram returns to his office. "How's everything going?"

We exchange a brief look. "I think it's going well," I say. "We're coming up with things we'd like to address. I have some books at home we could use, and then we're going to decide on a time to meet."

"Does this time work for you?" Hiram asks.

I think about it. This _is_ a time when I'm free, but I don't know if I want to spend every Saturday afternoon here. Now that I don't have to factor Finn into my schedule and my life, there are _so_ many things I _can_ do now, and _want_ to do. Also, Cheerios practice is unpredictable. I sigh. "For now, I think it's the best time for both of us," I say.

He smiles at me. "That's great," he says, moving further into the office. "I just need to grab a few things and I'll get out of your hair. Just text me when you're ready to go."

Florence and I iron out the details of our partnership, exchange numbers, and then I text Hiram. He notices quite early on in the trip home that I'm quieter than normal. I don't really know _why_ I'm quiet, but I'm not used to people noticing. These things generally went unnoticed, except to Brittany, who would then bring it up to Santana, who would then try to get me to talk about it.

"Something on your mind?" he asks, glancing at me as we drive through Lima.

I look at him. "Why did you do this?" I ask, more curious than anything.

"Why do you think?"

"I suspect you think I'll be good at this," I say. "That I might even enjoy it. But there's something else, isn't there?"

He remains silent.

"It's about trying to find what I want to do with the rest of my life, isn't it? Because, as much as I've been preparing for life after Lima, I still don't know what I want to do. It's just been _getting there_ , as opposed to what happens when I do. I've been so focused on - " I stop. "I was so focused on making sure F-Finn and I ended up some place _together_ , which was limiting, but now... Now I can do anything I want to, and I'm terrified."

"It's okay to be scared," he says quietly. "A lot has changed in your life just in the past week, let alone all you've been through these past years, Quinn. It's difficult for anyone, and I want you to know that Rachel, LeRoy and I really do want to help. I know what it's like to be a little lost when it comes to the future. I didn't decide on my major until I started filling in my registration forms."

"How _did_ you finally decide?"

"I sat myself down, looked at all my options, and decided on the things I knew I couldn't _not_ do, you know?" he says, smiling at me. "Finding and accepting the things you love can be a difficult thing, especially when there are all these expectations surrounding you."

I frown, a little confused.

"As a Jewish man from a very Jewish family, it's almost expected I become a doctor, or an engineer or even an accountant," he explains. "I had already disappointed them enough by being gay, so I _wanted_ to make them proud by fulfilling some of their dreams. I was conflicted all summer and, when I started to fill in those forms, I decided that I didn't want to get trapped by their expectations. And, when I did that, it was even more difficult allowing myself to want what I want. But then, I remembered the strength that comes from being yourself, and it was very freeing."

I sigh. "I admit I've done a lot of things because they're expected of me," I tell him. "I joined the Cheerios for my mother, and I joined Glee for Finn. I work so hard on my Academics for my parents. I'm as reserved as I am for God. I've tried so hard to be a better person for Beth. Everything I've done has been for other people, Hiram, and I don't know..." I trail off. "I just don't know."

He looks thoughtful. "I assume you've applied to schools?"

I nod. "To every one, really," I tell him. "Realistically, the number of schools Finn and I could get into _together_ was limited. His grades aren't that good and he's an average athlete. Good singer, terrible dancer, decent actor."

"What about you?" he asks. "You don't have to worry about Finn anymore."

I drop my gaze. "I don't know how to switch it off," I say. "He's been my number one priority for so long and, even after all the crap he's put me through this past week, I can't just _stop_ caring about him."

"Nobody says you have to stop caring," he says. "But it is time to make yourself your number priority. Somebody has to."

I smile faintly. "I'm trying."

"And that's all I ask."

Rachel meets us at the door when we get back and I get wrapped in a tight hug that settles the anxiety that's been building inside of me all afternoon. It's amazing how one touch from _Rachel Berry_ can feel so grounding.

"How was it?" she asks, taking my hand and leading me up the stairs to her bedroom. There's a duffel bag on the end of her bed and a pile of clothes on the floor.

"It was enlightening," I say, eyeing the mess. "What's going on here?"

She huffs. "I don't know what to pack for a sleepover," she admits, pouting. "With Santana and Brittany and _you_."

I raise my eyebrows. "With me?" I ask. "If I recall correctly, we've already had plenty of sleepovers."

She blushes. "That's not the point, Quinn," she says. "Help me."

I let out a small laugh, slide out of my shoes and _help_. As we shuffle through her clothes, I tell her about my meeting with Florence and my subsequent talk with her Dad. She listens with little comment, humming in response from time to time.

"He's right, by the way," she eventually says. "You _should_ be your number one priority right now, Quinn."

"I'm trying," I tell her, as I did Hiram.

"I know," she says lightly, kindly, and then her face morphs into something playful. It's adorable, really. "But what you're _not_ trying, is trying to help me. Help me, Fabray. What am I supposed to wear?"

* * *

"Sup, bitches!" Santana's disembodied voice yells. "We're in the kitchen!"

Rachel is practically vibrating beside me as we enter the house. I've stopped ringing the doorbell, so we go straight in, which makes Rachel uncomfortable until Santana makes her forget all about that.

"Dump your shit in the lounge and get in here," she says; "Britt and I are making smoothies."

I glance at Rachel. "Are you okay?"

"Can we just take a moment?"

"Of course," I say, setting my bag down next to the couch. I slip hers off her shoulder and set it down beside mine before turning to look at her, reaching for her hands. "Hey," I whisper. "Look at me."

Slowly, her gaze meets mine.

"I know we're a certain way at school," I tell her. "I know San can be brass and rude and opinionated, but you're my friend now, and I've talked to her. If she says things that make you uncomfortable, just say so, okay? If you ever want to leave, we'll leave. Just tell me, okay?"

She nods.

"Are you lovebirds coming?" Santana yells from the kitchen, and I blush, dropping Rachel's hands.

"Come on," I say, and lead the way to the kitchen. It's brighter than the lounge, and so _messy_. Brittany is sitting in the centre of the kitchen island with an endless number of fruit and vegetables around her, and Santana is practically dancing around the kitchen. There's soft music playing from speakers on a counter and the blender is currently being stocked with strawberries and raspberries.

"There you are!" Santana says when she spots us. Her eyes meet mine for a moment. "Everything all right?"

I nod once, and turn to Brittany. "Hey, B."

She scrambles off the island, dropping fruit to the floor, and practically launches herself at me, almost knocking me over. "Quinn!"

I laugh out loud as I hug her back, and then she's moving on to Rachel. I spare them a look to make sure Brittany hasn't killed her, and then move towards Santana. We bump hips once and she smiles at me; one of those knowing, caring smiles that are usually reserved for Brittany.

"Who's this for?" I ask, eyeing the diced mango she's dropping into the blender.

"Britt," she says. "Want me to make yours next? Or Berry's?"

"Rachel's," I say. "She's a little nervous."

She glances over my shoulder at where Brittany and Rachel are still wrapped around each other, talking in hushed and hurried tones. They're clearly excited about something, and I'm relieved to see the tension in Rachel's shoulders has dissipated somewhat.

"Hey, Hobbit!" Santana says, and Rachel's gaze snaps towards us.

And the tension is back.

"Want a smoothie?" she asks.

Rachel's eyes meet mine for a beat before she nods. "Sure, Santana. Thank you."

"Come pick your poison," she says, and Rachel's eyes widen for a moment.

I can't help my giggle. "What fruit do you want, Rachel?" I ask, translating somewhat. I look at Santana. "She'll have kiwis," I say; "bananas and blueberries. Honey and almond extract. Crushed ice. Do you have vegan yoghurt?"

"That's a thing?"

"I brought some," I say. "Well, _we_ brought some."

Santana raises her eyebrows. "Aren't you two just adorable?"

I don't respond, as I leave the kitchen and head to my bag. LeRoy packed a vegan-friendly cooler for us, just in case. He's really a genius, that man. When I get back to the kitchen, both Rachel and Brittany are sitting on the edge of the kitchen island, swinging their legs and laughing. For a moment, I marvel at the sound before moving back to Santana's side. She's just finished with Brittany's smoothie, and is moving on to Rachel's after a quick rinse.

We spend nearly two hours in the kitchen, making and drinking smoothies, dancing and singing around the kitchen, until we get hungry and start on dinner. Santana and I do the cooking while Rachel and Brittany start on a batch of cookies - the vegan variety. Apparently, Brittany is curious and eager to taste them. Rachel is more than willing to educate.

"What is this shit?" Santana asks, staring into the pot. "I like meat, Q. This looks fucking awful."

"Give it a chance," I tell her. "If you don't like it, I'll fry some bacon for you."

"I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

I just laugh as I turn towards Rachel and Brittany. They're peering into the mixing bowl, foreheads touching, and I wouldn't be able to drop my smile if I tried. It's almost as if Rachel realises I'm looking because she lifts her head and meets my gaze. She frowns for a beat before her face splits into a wide smile.

"You have flour on your nose," I say, pushing off the counter and walking towards her.

She turns to face me as I approach. "I do?"

I nod once, coming to stop in front of her, my eyes never straying from hers. I lift my hand and wipe the flour away with the backs of my fingers. "There you go," I say. "Good as new."

"Quinn Fabray, my hero."

I'm vaguely aware of Santana making a gagging sound in the background, but I don't hear her. It seems, neither does Rachel.


	8. eight

**Chapter Eight**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _i am your friend.  
_ _a soul for your soul.  
_ _a place for your life.  
_ _home._ _know this.  
_ _sun or water.  
_ _here or away.  
_ _we are a lighthouse.  
_ _we leave_ _and we stay._

.

Quinn is warm beside me, the side of her body pressed against mine. We're sitting on the couch together, buried under a blanket and watching a movie. There was a bit of a debate when deciding, Santana wanted sci-fi, Brittany wanted animation, Quinn didn't want romance and I didn't mind.

Which is how I ended up picking, and I went with _Lilo & Stitch_. It's action and animation and aliens, and no real romance. Really, it's about friendship. Santana and Brittany are wrapped around each other on the loveseat, whispering to each other as the movie goes on. I'm surprised by how comfortable I feel. Quinn helps with her small smiles and gentle touches.

Right now, her hand is in mine, hidden under the blanket and she occasionally squeezes it when she's laughing at something in the movie. I love the sound of it. I _know_ she's had the longest, toughest week and the lightness in her eyes and the softness in her features makes me feel relieved and warm. I know it's only been one week - eight days technically, so a French week - but I hate seeing her sad.

She leans into me at some point. "Have you ever had a pet?" she asks, whispering. Her breath is warm against my cheek, and I suppress a shiver. "Besides the fish, of course."

"Daddy's allergic to dogs and Dad's allergic to cats," I tell her.

"Wow."

"I had ferrets when I was little," I say. "Their names were Frank Sinatra and Patti LuPone."

"Cute," she murmurs, and then turns back to the movie. I watch her profile for a beat, and then turn back as well.

After the movie, we watch the thriller, _Prom Night_ , which seemed like a good idea at the time. Brittany is literally crawling inside of Santana, and Quinn is hiding half her face with the blanket. I can barely watch, and I keep blushing whenever Santana comments about how hot Brittany Snow is.

"What is she doing?" Quinn suddenly asks, startling me. "Come on. Turn around. Hide."

Santana laughs. "Q, babe, you do know she can't hear you, right?"

"She should know better," Quinn huffs, and she's so cute right now, I can't stop myself from putting my arm around her shoulders. "Do they all die?" she asks quietly.

I frown. "I don't know," I say. "I've never watched this movie."

Quinn looks at me in the darkness and there's something different in her eyes; something vulnerable and sad. "I don't want her to lose any more people," she whispers. "She already lost her entire family."

Oh. _Oh_.

I just hold her closer, my fingers trailing over her skin to distract her. By the end of the movie, when the boyfriend dies, I know this was probably the worst movie any of us could have picked. A blonde cheerleader losing her family and her boyfriend all in one movie. Definitely a bad choice.

Quinn excuses herself when Brittany is putting in a new movie. We're already fifteen minutes into it and Quinn hasn't come back. Santana glances at me for a moment, cocks her head, and then I stand up and go looking for _my_ blonde cheerleader. I find her sitting at the piano in what must be the house's library. Her fingers are resting on the keys but she isn't playing anything. I don't want to disturb her, but she looks so lost, and I can't help myself.

I step into the room and she looks up at me. She smiles faintly. "Hi," she breathes.

"Hey."

She shifts to the side, inviting me to sit with her on the bench. "I was going to play something," she says once I'm settled.

"Why haven't you?"

"I don't know what to play."

"Might I suggest something?"

She looks at me. "Are you going to sing?"

"Do you want me to?"

She takes her fingers off the keys and takes hold of my hands, intent on switching topics. "Do you know where my mom is right now?"

I shake my head, my eyes focused on our clasped fingers.

"She's in Atlantic City with her housewife friends," she tells me. "She left yesterday, telling me in a text that she'll be back Monday afternoon. I'm surprised I even got that much. It's two weekends in a row, and then there's Thanksgiving. I'm sure she's going to visit my sister again." She sighs. "It's as if all she wants is to be gone from here all the time; to be gone from _me_."

"Oh, Quinn," I whisper.

"I get it," she says. "This entire stupid town reminds her of _before_ , and of my father. Just like I do."

I squeeze her fingers, unsure what to say to her. What do I say to make it all better? Her mother is supposed to comfort her, not leave her. "Should I play for you?" I ask.

"Please."

We shift slightly, and I start to play Yiruma's _River Flows In You_ two octaves higher than the original. I get a few bars in before she starts to play it as well, just two octave lower, allowing space for my left hand to wander. It sounds a little odd, but it's a strange cacophony of sounds that actually blend amazingly. It's a sad, emotional song. Beautiful and nostalgic in its own way, and there are tears in her eyes when she presses the last note and lifts her foot off the pedal.

She looks at me, and I look at her. The air is charged, sizzling with the echoes of our chords and the words we're not saying. I run a hand through her hair, and she closes her eyes at my touch. I want to reassure her; just make it better, but I don't know how.

We sit for so long, the world shrinking down to this one moment... that she eventually breaks.

"We should probably head back," she says. "If we leave them alone for too long, they'll end up doing it, and probably not stop."

I pull a face.

"I guess that's one good thing about being a Cheerio," she says, turning playful; "a lot of stamina."

I laugh out loud as I rise to my feet and hold out my hand. She takes it, and I pull her up to her feet, burying her in a hug. It's a quick one because then we're going, leaving the room, passing through the kitchen for some snacks and going back to the lounge. Neither Santana or Brittany say anything about our absence, but Brittany does squeal when Quinn hands her the gummy bears and Santana nods in approval when she gets her fiery nachos. It's so stereotypical of who _they_ are that it's rather adorable.

Quinn and I settle back down on the couch, much closer, with our legs tangled. Her skin is soft and warm and smooth and I'm trying not to think about it as we finish watching _E.T. the Extra Terrestrial_. Brittany's choice. I don't mind it. It's an adorable movie, which touches on the power of friendship again. It's better than death and romance. Anything is better than Quinn's earlier facial expression.

When the credits roll, Santana switches everything off, letting us all know it's time for bed. "Sort yourselves out," she says to Quinn and me, her hand reaching for Brittany's. "I'm horny and the night is still young." When they're out of sight, Quinn lets out a laugh and I join in a beat later. Once she's recovered, she gets to her feet and pulls me to mine. Without saying a word, she lifts both our bags and leads me further into the house.

It's a beautiful house, really. I asked where Santana's parents were - at a doctor's convention in New Hampshire - but I did meet her older brother, who's the supposed _adult_ who's looking after us tonight. He is considerably older than Santana, and he's currently waiting on his wife to get back from her tour in Afghanistan to spend Thanksgiving with their family. It's sweet and sad, and -

"Quinn?"

She glances over her shoulder at me as we climb the stairs. "Hmm?"

"You should spend Thanksgiving with us," I tell her.

She hesitates. "I couldn't, Rachel," she says. "That's time you should spend with your family. I wouldn't want to impose on you guys like that."

I reach for the back of her t-shirt to stop her, close the distance between us and look up into her eyes. "You could and you should," I say. "I _will_ be spending time with my family, and you wouldn't be imposing at all and you know it."

She just looks at me.

"I won't force you to come if you don't want to," I assure her. "Just know that you're always welcome, and I would love to have you. So would my dads."

She breathes out. "Can I let you know?"

"Of course."

She leads the way to one of the guest rooms, pointing out the bathroom on the way. I have to cut my nighttime regimen short because I _couldn't_ bring all the necessary products, but I still take longer than Quinn to get settled. She's already half-asleep when I crawl into bed next to her - there's another guest room down the hall but we haven't even considered that - and she looks so peaceful.

"Plans for tomorrow?" I whisper, rolling onto my side to look at her.

"Church in the morning," she says, her voice thick with sleep. She doesn't even open her eyes. "You have three options: stay here until I get back, come with me, or I can drop you off at home."

I think about it for a moment. "Can I see how I feel in the morning?"

She hums in agreement, her breathing changes and I know she's asleep. I watch her for a moment, hoping and praying she gets good sleep tonight with no nightmares and no tears. It's all I'm thinking about when I finally drift off to sleep, and it's what I'm thinking about when I wake up to the feel of a hand in my hair.

"Hey."

I open my eyes to a blonde blur.

"Stay and sleep," Quinn whispers, and she sounds so close to me. "I'll pick you up later." Her soft lips press to my forehead, and then she's gone. I roll over with a smile, and promptly fall back asleep.

The next time I wake up is when another blonde pounces on me, making me shriek in alarm and making Santana die of laughter. When my heart rate has subsided, Santana tells me breakfast is ready and then she and Brittany leave me to get ready. I don't rush but I also don't take my time. I pack my duffel bag for departure, and make sure Quinn's things are also packed away. She's really quite forgetful sometimes - my room is starting to accumulate her things.

I find Santana and Brittany in the kitchen when I finally get downstairs. Santana is sipping at her coffee while Brittany is drinking orange juice.

"Hey, Berry," Santana says. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

"Grab a cup in the cabinet behind you," she says, which I do, and she pours some for me. "Britt and I are having eggs and bacon, but Quinn made you a fruit bowl before she left. What the fuck is a fruit bowl, by the way?"

Brittany is the one to answer. "It's a bowl of fruit, S."

Santana laughs. "Uh, sure thing, B." She looks at me. "I don't understand why they call it a _thing_. Can't it just be fruit?"

I shrug.

"It's in the fridge."

Quinn made my breakfast, and I can't help my stupid smile as the three of us settle down in the lounge to watch stupid morning television and eat our breakfast. It's easy and simple, and I don't feel at all nervous even without Quinn as my buffer. Brittany laughs hysterically when Santana decides on _Spongebob_. This entire weekend has made the Unholy Trinity seem so much more normal to me. There have been times when they've looked truly untouchable, out-of-wordly, but they're all just regular girls who are popular.

Quinn gets back just after ten-thirty, looking as pretty as ever in her Sunday best and we spend the rest of the morning just chatting to one another with the television on in the background. I learn that Santana teases Quinn to show her affection, and Quinn rolls her eyes and teases her back about how whipped she is for Brittany. Said blonde is just a happy and innocent bundle of energy and joy, and it's clear to see that Santana and Quinn both love her - in their different ways - and do all they can to protect her. Their entire dynamic is fascinating to me and I'm so grateful they're allowing me to get a glimpse of it.

It's around lunch time that Quinn suggests we get going. She, apparently, has plans for us, which result in a quick stop to Breadsticks for a takeaway pickup - I don't recall her even making a call to order - and a drive to Quinn's park. We're having a picnic lunch, apparently. I've just been told what's going to happen and I'm just rolling with it. I have no intention to contradict Quinn and her plans. I'm just along for the ride, really.

We spend hours under the sun, just talking, eating and laughing. She seems relaxed today, and I wonder if she worked through a few things at church. I'm tempted to ask but her religion and the practice of it seems much more personal now than it used to. She just seems so much more centred, not to sound cliched. Settled, in a way.

When it starts getting late, Quinn packs up our things and I roll up the picnic blanket. We walk back to the car in silence, fingers linked. The drive home isn't as quiet, as we belt out the lyrics to the songs on the radio. I've always loved singing in the car - especially when I'm by myself - but singing with Quinn just makes me irrationally happy. I can't explain it and I'm not going to try to.

When she pulls up in front of my house, she doesn't move.

"You're not coming in?" I ask, irritated with how small my voice sounds.

"I think I've monopolised enough of your time for one weekend."

"Nonsense," I say. "You _told_ me your mother wasn't even home. Even if that weren't the case, I want you to come inside. I have homework you can still help me with."

"Oh, I see how it is."

I wink at her. "I'm glad you do."

* * *

"Want to hang out after Glee?"

I look up from the sheet music in my hands at Kurt. "Hmm?"

"After Glee," he says. "Maybe get a coffee at the Lima Bean? There's this new boutique shop I want to check out. I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

My mind automatically jumps to Quinn. "Uh, I can't today," I tell him, internally cringing. Does this make me a terrible person? "What about tomorrow? I can meet you at the Lima Bean after my dance class."

He looks at me for a moment, trying to determine whether or not he should question me further, but ultimately decides against it. "Sure," he says, smiling at me. "Just text me the time."

I feel guilty about it for exactly three minutes, because then Quinn is walking into the choir room, a small smile on her face and a certain _air_ about her. Sure, she's still conflicted about several things when it comes to Finn, but I do think talking to him helped. I did get an earful from Santana for allowing it to happen but, really, you try to stop Quinn Fabray when she sets her mind to something.

Quinn smiles widely at me as she makes her way to the free seat on my left, and Brittany and Santana take their spots to her left side. She leans towards me, dropping the volume of her voice. "So, I found this vegan recipe for this balsamic glazed roasted cauliflower. Do you think LeRoy would let me make it for Thursday?"

I beam at her. "Of course."

" _And_ I found a recipe for vegan roasted garlic and herb dinner rolls," she says, and I automatically lick my lips. She notices, her eyes staying on my mouth for a beat too long. "They sound delicious," she says, blinking a few times.

"They do," I agree. "Anything else?"

"I assume we're having tofurkey."

"It's not terrible, you know?"

"I don't _know_ , no, but I suspect I'm about to learn," she says with a tilt of her head. "What about pumpkin sage risotto?"

I practically purr. "My my, Miss Fabray, you really know the way to a vegan girl's heart."

She laughs out loud, her head tilting back, and I just catch sight of Finn looking at us, his facial expression a mix of a scowl and obvious confusion. My attention is back on Quinn when she speaks again. "LeRoy and I did manage to decide on a maple pecan pie. How does that sound?"

"We're going to have to work out all weekend," I tell her.

"Sure, we'll go on one of your famous runs," she says with a wink, and my admonishment is cut off by Mr Schuester's arrival. She's got her playful smile on and it's making me feel warm. I have to force my eyes away from her and focus my attention on Mr Schuester.

"Right, guys, because this week is a short one, I thought we could spend today discussing songs to sing to show how thankful we are for one another, for our families and for our lives in general. I know it doesn't give us much time but I'd like to see some performances on Wednesday."

I sit back in my chair and try to think about what I'm thankful for while Mr Schuester prattles on. I normally pay attention, but this is important. My dads, obviously. My singing voice. My general health. My able limbs. A roof over my head and food on the table. My goldfish. The prospect of a future beyond Lima. My extended family. My Glee family. My friends. Quinn.

I'm thankful for Quinn.

* * *

Kurt looks like he wants to ask me something, but he's actively trying to stop himself. It was cute for the first hour but, now that we're in the boutique and the coffee is wearing off, it's starting to irritate me. It seems I've developed a low threshold for these things because I heave a sigh and level a glare at him.

"What?" I ask. "You obviously want to ask me something, so just out with it."

He presses his lips together, clearly affronted, but he won't pass up the opportunity. "What's it like being friends with the Unholy Trinity?"

I want to roll my eyes but I just manage to stop myself. "They _are_ regular people, you know?"

He gasps. "Don't say such a thing," he says. "Have you _seen_ Quinn's skin? She probably has a rather impressive regimen, doesn't she? It can't be natural. Nobody can be that flawless."

I wonder if telling him Quinn's a wash, wear and go girl will break him. It almost broke me. I use an endless number of products to keep my skin clear, and Quinn just _breathes_ and she looks perfect. I shake my head. "They're normal," I reiterate.

I absently think they're probably a little like superheroes with secret identities. Well, Quinn and Santana are. Brittany's always going to be Brittany, but Santana and Quinn are different behind the hard exteriors they present at school. Santana is mellow and surprisingly caring, and Quinn is... She's so many things; I wouldn't even know where to begin. She's playful and teasing, self-deprecating and deeply emotional, excitable and a total foodie. She's _Quinn_.

I suddenly can't wait to see her. She hasn't texted me this afternoon, but I'm trying not to think about it. She's got Cheerios practice and, chances are, I won't see her until tomorrow if it runs as late as it can. Which is why I'm wholly surprised to find a certain cheerleader sprawled across my bed when I get back from the boutique. She's doing her homework, looking freshly showered and relaxed. She's been here a while then.

"Hey," I say, getting her attention. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were here. I would have come - "

"Rachel," she interrupts, getting up off the bed. "Hi."

"Have you been waiting long?"

She shrugs.

"Sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" she asks, coming to stand right in front of me. "I'm well aware I'm not your only friend, Berry, and I definitely don't want you to ignore your other friends because of me. I'm a big girl, and you're here now. I can be selfish _now_." She pulls me into a hug.

"Are you mad?"

She releases me. "Why on earth would I be mad?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, Rachel Berry," she murmurs, hugging me again. "I'm definitely not mad. I'm just happy to see you. LeRoy and I made these herb biscuits that I just know you're going to love."

I frown. "For how long have you been here?"

"Just over an hour."

"Why didn't you text me?"

"You were out with Kurt," she says. "I don't want to overwhelm you, Rachel. I can be _a lot_."

I laugh. "Have you met me?"

She smiles faintly - I think this is the seventh smile - and then presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. "Yes, I do believe I _just_ have."

* * *

There's a bout of applause when Brittany finishes her song. It's polite, at best, because I think a lot of us are still caught off guard by how bizarre it was. I mean, it's not surprising Brittany sang about cats... it's just that it still _is_ surprising.

Mr Schuester looks suitably perplexed - not that I blame him - as he moves to the centre again. "Okay, who's next?"

I know Quinn hasn't prepared anything. I tried to convince her, but she isn't feeling very 'thankful' at the moment and I wasn't going to push. Either way, I hope she appreciates the song I picked. I raise my hand, and Mr Schuester looks at me.

"Oh, Rachel," he says. "Come on up. The floor's all yours."

It doesn't take long to get everything set up, and I take a deep breath to settle myself. I'm not one to get nervous about performances. I _know_ my talent and how far it can go. It's the other things that worry me. Of course, I live for applause and all that, but I'm still wary of many things that are usually a struggle to ignore.

I open mouth and start to sing. My super smart Glee family catch onto Joe Cocker's _A Little Help From My Friends_ pretty quickly, and I can already feel them wanting to join in.

" _What would you think if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me? Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song, and I'll try not to sing out of key_." I wonder if I look as dramatic as I feel. The music builds. " _Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends. Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends. Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends_." I take a breath. " _What do I do when my love is away_?"

Mercedes and Tina follow, and the three of us start to trade lines, theirs rolling into and out of mine. " _Does it worry you to be alone_?"

" _How do I feel by the end of the day_?"

" _Are you sad because you're on your own_?"

" _No, I get by with a little help from my friends. Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends. Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends_."

Santana, Brittany and Quinn join them, harmonising seamlessly. They've always been so good at that, really. " _Do you need anybody_?"

" _I need somebody to love_."

" _Could it be anybody_?"

" _I want somebody to love_."

Kurt and Blaine add in their voices, their own special blend adding something more to the song. " _Would you believe in a love at first sight_?"

I'm grinning madly, my eyes drifting over each of their faces. " _Yes, I'm certain that it happens all the time_."

" _What do you see when you turn out the light_?"

" _I can't tell you, but I know it's mine. Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends. Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends. Oh, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends_."

By now, practically the entire club has joined in and they're standing and dancing and just _enjoying_ it. " _Do you need anybody_?"

" _I need somebody to love_."

" _Could it be anybody_?"

For the briefest moment, I glance Quinn's way and her smiling face is almost blinding. " _I want somebody to love_." I set myself for the last few lines. " _Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends. Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends. Oh, I get high with a little help from my friends. Yes, I get by with a little help from my friends_." I'm beaming now. " _With a little help from my friends_."

There's great applause, and I revel in it. I get claps on the back and a few hugs before everyone settles down again, leaving me standing in front of them. I have a quick something to say before I resume my own seat.

"In case you missed it, I just wanted to let you know I'm thankful for all of you," I say. "I know we don't always get along but I really do love everyone in this band of misfits, and I am immensely proud to be able to call you my friends... even if it _is_ just in this room."

There's a small and collective chuckle from the room. Santana calls me a suck-up, and Kurt says it's sweet. Quinn's mouth doesn't say anything, but her eyes have always been a lot more expressive anyway.

At least, to me.

* * *

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but we don't actually have to cook a tofurkey all day like we would a normal turkey, right?"

My Daddy bursts out laughing, his eyes on Quinn. "I'm so glad we get to keep you," he says, and she blushes. "And, in answer to your question - I think it's a question - no, it doesn't require normal cooking methods."

Quinn glances at me, playful smile worn proudly. "And there I thought we'd be slaving away for hours." Really, she looks... gorgeous. She's flushed from the heat of the kitchen and my Daddy's praises, her hair is in a tight bun and away from her face, and the apron she's wearing - 'Kiss the Little Chef,' a gift from my Daddy - is making me feel a little confused and I'm not really sure why.

"We can't have that," my Daddy says. "Hiram expects us to play at least one round of _Scrabble_ before we eat dinner."

"Oh."

"It can turn into war in this house," he explains. "Those two can be very competitive when it comes to this particular word game," he tells her, pointing at me and my invisible dad, who's in the living room probably setting up the game as we speak. "Do you know how _Monopoly_ has actually resulted in murder? In this house, _Scrabble_ has lasted in one week of the silent treatment."

"Wow," Quinn says, and then suddenly looks mischievous. "That must have been lovely for you, LeRoy."

My Daddy howls in laughter and I just gasp.

"Quinn Fabray," I admonish, and she slides towards me.

"You called."

"That wasn't very nice."

Her smile is sheepish at best, even as my Daddy tries to compose himself. "No, I don't suppose it was," she says. "What are you going to do about it?"

Even as she asks the question, all I can really think about is 'Kiss the Little Chef,' which keeps me silent during my confusion.

She frowns, stepping closer to me. "I _was_ kidding, you know?" she says, sounding worried, and it snaps me out of whatever my brain is trying to tell me without actually telling me.

"I know," I say. "But I'll make you pay for it."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah?"

"How's about a wager?"

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the breakfast nook, so her face is inches from mine. My brain stops working for vital seconds. "I'm listening," she says.

"If I get the higher score between us in _Scrabble_ , you have to sing a duet with me in Glee," I manage to say.

"And if _I_ get the higher score?"

"As if that'll happen," I scoff, and her eyebrows rise. "What do you want then?"

Her eyes slide down to my mouth for a moment before they snap back up. "You have to sing a song I choose for you," she says.

"Okay."

"That was easy," she points out.

"There's no way you'll get a higher score than I do," I say.

She eyes me. "For all you know, I might even win."

"Never going to happen."

I suppose the good thing about Quinn Fabray is she doesn't gloat. She has every right to, of course, because she literally wiped the floor with me and my Dad. And we were trying. Honestly, I came up with words I didn't even know _could_ exist, but Quinn best us all and my Daddy enjoyed every second of it.

"Stop pouting," Quinn says, as she crawls into bed, a steady smirk on her face. "Did someone tell you you looked cute when you did that?"

"As a matter of fact, someone did," I say, pouting that bit more.

She just smiles at me as she settles, lying on her side. "Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm happy," she says softly.

"Because you won?" I huff, trying to ignore the explosion of butterflies in my stomach at the sound of her words.

She shakes her head, her hand absently reaching for mine under the covers. "Because of you and your family," she whispers. "Because my tummy is smiling." Such a foodie. "Because I'm warm and I'm not alone."

I reach out to touch the skin of her cheek, just wanting to feel her, and her eyes slowly open.

"Because I finally belong," she says, and I surge forward to wrap her in an awkward hug that makes us both giggle before we sigh. She's quiet for a moment before she says, " _and_ because I won."

And I laugh and laugh.

* * *

Quinn and I spend Friday morning nursing our food hangovers and nibbling on leftovers. We watch movies and have an in-depth discussion about whether or not Harry Potter really should have been Sorted into Gryffindor or Slytherin. I'm starting to learn that Quinn Fabray is really a closeted nerd behind her pretty face and Cheerio persona. She's adorable.

In the afternoon, Quinn goes over to Santana's house to spend some time with the Latina and Brittany, and I head out to meet Mercedes, Tina and Kurt for a coffee at the Lima Bean. We're all friends, sure, but I'm glad Quinn recognises how fluid that term can be. I do, however, count the seconds until I get to see her again, which is another one of those things that is confusing. I've missed people before, but never like this. It's unsettling and it makes me feel a little uncomfortable, but then I just see her and everything is better.

After coffee, the four of us window shop. I'm not actually looking for anything, but Tina is considering splurging for a good pair of boots. With the snow, we're going to have to be ready. I text Quinn between two separate shoe stores, and don't get a response. Tina decides on black leather, with a zip. I vote against the zip, but Mercedes and Kurt believe they know better. It's Tina's decision, and she goes with the majority.

Quinn texts a picture of the Unholy Trinity posing for a selfie with their tongues sticking out and the caption: 'Missing our R.' I giggle to myself, and then help Mercedes pick out a new pair of sunglasses. The day goes quickly and, when I get home, my dads and I watch a movie together. It's one of those thought-provoking ones that I leave them to debate as I steal away to my bedroom, so I can miss Quinn in silence.

It's late when she gets home, but not quite past the curfew my dads set. The second I see her, I know something is wrong. It's in her eyes, they're clouded by something. It takes one hug from her to smell the alcohol and cigarette smoke on her breath. She's not drunk, not by a long shot, but there's a part of me that knows she wants to be. To feel numb. I'm already wording my text to Santana for letting this happen in my head when Quinn's head drops heavily onto my shoulder and she sucks in a pained breath.

"Do you think my mom loves me?" she asks, and I honestly don't have an answer for her.

* * *

While Quinn is at Cheerios practice on Saturday, my dads and I drive into Columbus to visit my Daddy's aunt, who lives in a nursing home. Aunt Marianne is a lovely, boisterous lady, who just seems to be getting louder and louder with age. My Daddy's family weren't particularly receptive to his coming out. In fact, when he was fourteen, they carted him off to live with Aunt Marianne, who vowed never to treat him any differently.

But she's getting old now and every time we visit could be our last one. I know it makes my Daddy sad but he's not the type to talk about it. Not with me, at least. I suspect he'll talk about it with _someone_. Aunt Marianne asks me about school and Glee and boys, but all I can really bring myself to talk about is Quinn. Quinn this and Quinn that, and I don't even realise I'm doing it until she asks if Quinn is my girlfriend.

I laugh because, I mean, _come on_.

"No," I tell her, and just about manage to ignore the overwhelming part of me that feels as if it's a lie. "She's just a friend. My best friend, actually."

"I'll have to meet her sometime."

"Yes, you will."

* * *

Quinn's Sunday starts almost as early as her Saturday. It makes me sad to think she doesn't really get to sleep in, ever. I know I have an abundance of energy but where she finds the will power to keep going after the gruelling torture of practice the day before, I'll never know. She spends most of the morning at church. She always seems much calmer, somewhat subdued, when she returns, as if the conversation she's had with God has helped her make sense of a tumultuous week.

We go to the park after we have lunch with my dads. Her fingers are warm and her smile is steady. She's in a blue dress this time, her hair perfectly curled and makeup beautifully understated. It's a normal, easy day that ends with Quinn dropping me off at home and telling me that her mother's arrived from visiting her sister, so she should probably go. I pout, which makes her laugh.

"Plans for this week?" I ask.

"Simple," she says, smiling at me. "Try not to break down, space-out or straight up murder someone, but still look hot doing it."

"Should be easy."

She winks at me. "See you tomorrow, Berry," she says. "Thank you for allowing me to spend Thanksgiving with you and your family."

"You're very welcome, Quinn, though you know your thanks is unnecessary."

"Doesn't mean I still shouldn't say it."

I reach across the console and kiss her cheek. "My dads are going to be sad they missed you."

"I'll see them tomorrow," she says.

"Promise?" I hesitate at the vulnerability in my own voice.

"I promise."

* * *

After Thanksgiving weekend, we fall into a rhythm, Quinn and I. Well, Quinn, my dads and I. Sometimes, when we're making plans, Quinn just texts one of my dads, merely bypassing me. Any other person, I'd find it weird, but it's Quinn. I'm convinced my dads like her more than they do me sometimes. They love me, sure, but they _like_ Quinn, and it makes me irrationally happy sometimes. I love that they've accepted her; that they've taken up the mantle to help me help her.

Quinn comes over almost every night of the following week, save for Thursday again. She just drops by for a late dinner and a chat with my Dad about Florence on Tuesday. We spend Wednesday working on my Chemistry project. Quinn isn't even taking Chemistry this semester, but she makes time for me even though I know she has an Economics test on Friday. Which goes well, by the way. She's not one for commenting on her assessments but she has tells. A slight quirk of her eyebrow means she nailed it, a slight crinkling of her nose means she's not sure, and a minimal downturn of her lips means she thinks it went terribly but she probably still aced it.

Every day, I learn more and more about Quinn Fabray, and I find I'm losing bits and pieces of myself in her. I take a step back to determine if that's a good or a bad thing but, ultimately, ignore it because I think she's losing pieces of herself in me as well. My addled and dramatic brain thinks that maybe we're using our own pieces to fill in the missing ones in the other person. It sounds profound when I put it that way, and I'm not entirely sure what to make of it.

We go through wonderful days of normal - well, as normal as one's life can get when its biggest fixture is Quinn Fabray - before said girl decides it's time to switch things up and put unnecessary stress on my heart. It's a Tuesday, and I'm expecting her in a few. My dads are out on a date and I texted her asking what takeout she wanted.

I get a call in response.

"Hello."

"Hey, Berry?"

I keep my eyes on the takeout menu in my hand, my lips pressed together. "Hmm?" I hum into the phone.

"Do you want to come over to my house?"


	9. nine

**Chapter Nine**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _my mother was my first country,  
_ _the first place I ever lived._

 _._

In my seventeen - almost eighteen - years on Earth, I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've truly been nervous. My audition to join the Cheerios. Approaching Finn after our first breakup. Telling my parents I was pregnant. And _this_.

Rachel Berry is in my house.

The tour is quick. It's a house that resembles Santana's in design, but is a little bigger. Russell Fabray is nothing if not a proud man. Everything has to be bigger and better, which is sometimes a character trait that seeps into my subconscious. I'm learning to control the parts of me Russell's influence has trained, but it's slow going. Church helps a lot. The peace of it; the words and explanations. I like to talk things through with my Reverend, and we've had quite a bit to talk about lately. About Finn. About the future. And about... Rachel.

"Want to see my room?" I ask, and she nods. I lead the way up the stairs, fully aware of her wandering eyes. There are picture frames on the walls, showcasing a once complete family with two perfect parents and two perfect, untouched daughters. None of them exists anymore.

I hear Rachel gasp behind me and I turn to look at her, stopping expectantly. "I'm sorry," she says; "it's just, you were so stinking cute."

I laugh. "I can't say I've ever heard myself described that way."

"Well, you were," she says, resuming her ascent. "Sometimes, you still are."

To disguise the sudden fluttering in my stomach, I joke. "Only sometimes, huh?"

She just laughs as we reach my room, the door closed. There's what resembles a child's painting on the door with my name in block letters and a yellow sun, blue sky and green grass. I see her raise her eyebrows in question, and I smile. "Brittany," is all I say, and she seems to understand. I open the door to walk into a room that's always felt temporary, for some reason, and suddenly feel nervous.

Rachel walks in behind me and stops right at my side, quietly taking it all in. If I were to look at my own bedroom through new eyes, I would find it... boring, at best. The walls are white, except for the furthest one from the door - the one housing the window - which is painted an almost turquoise blue. The furniture is dark wood, and my bedding is white with a blue flower pattern stitched into it. My desk is relatively clean, organised chaos and all that. I have a bookshelf that's bursting at the seams with the number of books I've accumulated over the years. Really, it's just a place in which I sleep, do my homework and read. It's _functional_ , not comfortable.

Rachel steps further into the room, her eyes darting about as she tries to take it all in. It isn't even much. I mean, I used to have posters on the wall and endless pictures posted on my board, but I took them down when I was kicked out - it's amazing what you can accomplish in half an hour - and I've never put them back up. I don't think I ever will. Not in this room, at least. Maybe somewhere else; somewhere new.

I watch as she moves towards the bookshelf and studies my volumes. I've got all the classics, obviously, and I imagine she's trying to find ones we have in common. I suppose one can only talk about Harry Potter for so long - which is ridiculous, really, because Harry Potter is a topic of conversation to go on for ages. When she moves away from the bookshelf, she studies my desk, her fingers running over the top of my closed laptop.

"So, is this where all the magic happens?" she asks, gesturing towards my desk.

I swallow audibly. "Magic?"

"You don't become Miss Four-Point-Oh GPA without hard work, Quinn."

"Oh," I breathe. "Umm, yeah."

She eyes me for a moment before she continues her exploration. "Are these what I think they are?" she asks, walking towards my nightstand and picking up my glasses' case. "Oh my, they really are." She turns to me, her expression resembling one of a kid in a candy store. "Can you put them on? I want to see."

I chuckle because she really is a special kid. "Hand them over then," I say, waving my hand.

She practically skips towards me. "This is probably the best day of my life."

"You are so weird," I say with a head-shake and a smile, taking the glasses from her and slipping them on without preamble. I look up. She's a little blurry, but I can't mistake the way her jaw drops. Oh. I step forward. "Are they as dorky as I think?"

She doesn't respond; just stares at me with wide eyes. She eventually closes her mouth, only to trap her bottom lip between her teeth.

I take them off. "Uh, Rachel," I say with raised eyebrows. "Tell me, did I just give you endless ammunition to tease me with?"

She reaches out to take the glasses and their case from me. "We should put these away," she says tensely, and then mumbles something under her breath that sounds a little like 'dangerous' and 'not fair.' She walks straight back to me and hugs me tight, her body flush against mine. She's warm and soft in my arms, and I reason my glasses will probably get me these kind of hugs, so I should definitely wear them more often. She eventually breathes out, releases me and smiles innocently.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

She nods, and then bounces off towards my closet. I follow her into it, and watch as she marvels over my dresses and my near thousand Cheerio uniforms. Her eyes linger on my shoes for the longest time and she thumbs through my various jackets and coats. Really, she looks so engrossed, I worry I'm going to have to drag her out of the closet.

I blush and I don't even know why.

"Are these actually fishnet stockings?" she asks, looking at me in surprise.

I laugh. "They are, yes," I say, moving closer to her. "Are you in disbelief?"

"I am."

"Why?"

She eyes me. "On second thought, no, I'm not," she says. "Something about you just screams _kinky_."

I laugh out loud, almost doubling over. "And fishnet stockings tell you that?"

She nods.

"What am I ever going to do with you?" I ask.

She turns to face me. "Well, for starters, you could feed me."

"Hungry?" I ask.

"Starving."

"I was thinking of making portobello mushroom burgers," I tell her. "I still have some leftover rolls from last night."

Her hands reach out for me, cupping my cheeks. "I take it back," she says.

"What?"

"It's not 'sometimes.' You're stinking cute _all the time_."

I blush a deep red, my hands covering hers. "As long as you know."

"Believe me, I know."

I remove her hands from my face and lead the way out of the closet and downstairs to the kitchen. She wants to help, so I get her preparing the sliced vegetables for the burgers while I spread the sweet potato fries onto a tray, spice them with rosemary and salt, and then drizzle olive oil on them before popping the tray in the oven. When I look at Rachel, she's very carefully slicing an onion, and it's adorable. _She's_ adorable.

She notices me watching. "Is this too thick?"

"It's perfect," I assure her, and then get started on the mushrooms. It's easy, this time spent with her. We're already in a rhythm outside of the kitchen that it's easy to find it in here. I find I like having her in my house, in my space, _with me_.

I flip the mushrooms in the pan and feel Rachel come up behind me.

"I have an idea," she says, standing much closer than I initially think. "We should take a picture of this."

I glance over my shoulder at her. "We should?"

"It's our first time cooking in your kitchen. I want to remember this moment." She breathes out, and I feel it everywhere. "And plus, I don't have many pictures of just the two of us, and I'd like some."

"Just you and me?" I ask to clarify, even though her words are still ringing in my head.

"Just you and me." She takes out her phone, opens her camera and slips her arm around my waist, drawing me into her side. "I'm not good at this," she says, holding the phone out in front of us.

"Clearly," I say, taking the phone from her. "I have longer arms, and I don't want our supper to burn while you try to figure out how to take a selfie." She laughs. "Smile." I click several pictures and realise belatedly that Rachel is looking at me. "What?" I ask, turning my own head towards her.

"Nothing."

I click one last picture of the two of us looking at each other, and then hand her back the phone and return my attention to the mushrooms. I'm able to take them off the burner, but I turn when I hear her let out a small gasp. "What?"

She's looking at the pictures. "It's actually disgusting how photogenic you are," she says, looking equal parts irritated and amused. "I think this is my favourite one," she says, turning the phone's screen towards me. It's the last one, I know, and it's my favourite one too. I watch as she stares at it for another moment, a small smile on her lips, before putting her phone away and giving me her full attention. Together, we construct our burgers to our liking. I don't like pickles in mine and she skips the lettuce today.

When I take out the sweet potato fries and set the tray on the counter, Rachel automatically steals a small one and pops it in her mouth.

"Hey," I say.

She lets out the cutest giggle and I just want to reach out and touch her. Sometimes, I feel as if she isn't quite real and I just need to be sure. She catches the movement of my hands and raises her eyebrows. "I swear, if you tickle me, I will break your bones."

I laugh out loud as I step towards her and she steps back, prey versus predator. We round the kitchen island once, twice, before I lunge and Rachel backs into the counter trying to get away. She screams before I even touch her, and then she freezes.

I stop dead. "What?" I ask. "Are you hurt?"

She glances over her shoulder, her eyes wide, and I turn to look. My mother is standing in the doorway, an unreadable expression on her face, staring at us as if she's just seen a pair of ghosts. I straighten immediately, the smile slipping from my face and being replaced with something passive.

"Mom," I say. "I didn't expect you back so early."

"Evidently," she says, stepping into the room. "I assume you would have let me know we were expecting company, otherwise."

My shoulders tense, and Rachel shifts behind me, sensing my unease.

"Who's your friend?" my mother asks.

Before I can get a word out, Rachel steps out from behind me, strides forward and holds out her hand. "Mrs Fabray, I'm Rachel Berry, Quinn's friend from school."

My mother blinks in surprise at Rachel's forwardness, but eventually shakes her hand. "Rachel Berry," she echoes. "From Glee?"

"Yes, ma'am."

My mother's smile is so forced; I'm sure even Rachel can tell. She looks past her towards me. "What are you two doing here? I thought you would be out."

"We're making dinner," I say.

"Oh."

Silence.

She takes a step back. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to it then," she says. "It was nice to meet you, Rachel Berry."

Rachel says nothing, and my mother walks out, leaving the atmosphere awkward and _dirty_ ; like she's soiled it somehow with her presence. I don't like it. I hate it, and I want nothing more than to take Rachel and get as far away from this place as possible. Maybe she notices my shaking hands because hers are suddenly in mine, squeezing my fingers and making me look at her.

"I'm sorry," I say, automatically.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I didn't want you to have to meet her like that," I say. "It was supposed to be better. I was supposed to introduce you properly and explain to her just what you mean to me. It was supposed to - "

She silences me with a hug and I can feel her heart beating against my chest. "It's okay," she whispers, warm breath against the skin of my neck. "Just breathe, Quinn. It's okay. You're okay." She's holding me, squeezing me, reassuring me.

"Do you want to go?" I eventually ask, when she pulls back to look at my face.

"Do you?" she asks.

I shake my head because this is my house and I want Rachel to feel comfortable here, even if I sometimes don't. "Maybe we can just finish making dinner and then hide in my bedroom?"

She frowns, clearly not liking the word 'hide.'

"I'm sorry," I say again.

She kisses my cheek. "Come on, let's go."

It takes us a few minutes to gather our food and drinks, and then we make our way upstairs. We situate ourselves on my bed, soft music playing in the background and just eat and talk and manage to forget that my mother is somewhere in this house, probably reeling at the fact that LeRoy and Hiram Berry's daughter is in my bedroom right now. I wonder, if my pregnancy drove my parents apart, would Rachel Berry's presence in my life bring them back together?

When we're done eating, we lie sprawled out on my bed. Rachel is busy with sheet music and I'm lying on my stomach, reading. It still amazes me that we don't even have to be talking and still be able to enjoy each other's company. It's easy, this friendship with Rachel, and I can't believe how much time I wasted rebuffing her offers of friendship all these years.

"Can I ask you about something?" she asks after a while, her back resting against my pillows, looking decidedly relaxed. "And you don't have to answer if you don't want to. I'm just... curious. And feel free not to read too much into that either."

"Berry," I say, looking up from my book; "ask your question."

She worries her bottom lip for a moment before her gaze meets mine. "Well, I was wondering, um, about sex."

I cough suddenly, caught off guard. Okay, I was _not_ expecting that. "Uh..."

Rachel looks undisturbed. "I'm almost eighteen, and I'm very much still a virgin. I'm _aware_ that I'm missing out on something but I've never quite understood the appeal." Then, she adds, "At least, with another person."

 _Sweet Jesus_. My heart is suddenly beating really fast and I can barely look at her. Did she just - did she just say that she -

"Sorry," she says. "If this is weird to talk about, just tell me."

I clear my throat. "No, it's okay," I say, sitting up so I can look at her properly. "I'm not really sure what you're trying to ask me, Rachel."

"I'm not really sure either," she admits.

I lick my lips, visibly thinking. "Well, obviously I've done it before," I say, smiling slightly.

"Do you wish you'd waited?"

"If I'd known I would get pregnant the first time I had sex, then, definitely, I wish we'd waited," I tell her. "But, Beth aside, it seemed inevitable that Finn and I would get to the point where we took it to the next level, so to speak. I loved him. I _wanted_ to be with him that way, but - "

"But what?"

"Don't get me wrong, I enjoy sex as much as the next person, but it never quite felt like _fireworks_. I don't know if that makes sense." I run a hand through my hair. "I once talked to Santana about it; about how it feels, and her description was very different to mine, which I think means that the _person_ you're with is very important."

She nods thoughtfully. "Do you think you'll start looking for that person anytime soon?" she asks. "I know boys have been asking you out left, right, and centre, but you don't seem to be giving any of them the light of day."

"I swore off boys, remember?" I remind her, and she blushes for some reason. "And, no, I don't think I'm ready for any of that yet. I mean, it's been just over a month since Finn and I ended, and it just seems too soon, you know? I lost so much of myself in him, and I don't want to feel that vulnerable again. I want to be certain, and I want to be sure when I do start again. Of myself, and of the other person. I won't enter another relationship without my life and heart settled, and I'm not one for empty dates or casual hookups."

I don't know what it is but she looks... relieved. Huh?

We settle down again, and I'm just able to ignore the bizarreness of that conversation. What on earth was that all about? At some point, Rachel stands up and moves towards my dock station. I watch her from the corner of my eye, her small frame relaxed as she searches through the songs on my iPod for something she likes. She bounces slightly when she decides on a song, and she increases the volume.

When she starts to sway her hips, my throat goes dry. The music fills the room and, just before Pink's voice starts, Rachel turns to me and crooks a finger. I just stare at her as her mouth starts to form the words to _Just Like a Pill_. I'm frozen, mesmerised, until she loses patience with me and comes to fetch me, practically plucking me from my position on the bed.

I recover enough to join her during the bridge, and then we're belting out the chorus and jumping up and down, and let it be known there's never a dull moment with Rachel Berry. She grabs for my hairbrush on my dresser and uses it as a microphone, even jumping up onto the bed and putting on quite the show. We're both a little breathless when the song ends, but the next song offers us no rest. Kelly Clarkson's _Since U Been Gone_ demands our attention, and we give it. There's a scissor jump off the bed, wild head swinging and lyrics screamed at the top of our lungs.

We're both exhausted when the songs ends, and we collapse on my bed in a heap, laughing uncontrollably. She looks at me and I look at her, and this moment is important. I'm able to acknowledge it for what it is, and I feel surprisingly calm about the truth that settles over my heart. I'm a little proud of myself, if I'm being honest.

Rachel breathes out, smiling at me. "I think I should have sung that one instead of _Don't Speak_ ," she says. "Finn definitely wouldn't have liked that."

I hum in agreement, my eyes staying on her. I take in the flush of her cheeks, the happy smile on her face and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. It's all so much and not enough at the same time. It's overwhelming and also not. But then she reaches for my hand and it's warm in mine, and what was I even worrying about again? My mother who?

* * *

"Hey, Quinn."

I look up from the notebook in my lap to see Sam moving towards me, wearing one of his wide smiles that is endearing to most. I can see a quiet desperation in his eyes, but I've never bothered to find out why it's there. "Hi, Sam," I say, dropping my gaze back to the Calculus problem I'm trying to work through before the choir room fills up for Glee. I'm very aware of the fact that he sits down next to me, and I can feel his eyes on me. Inwardly, I sigh, and look at him. "Something I can help you with, Sam?"

His eyes lift from where they've been trained on my chest area, and it takes everything I have not to hurl my notebook at his head. "Oh, umm," he starts, trying to compose himself. "I know it hasn't been that long since you and Finn broke up, and I'm pretty sure you get this a lot, but I was just wondering if you would like to go out some time? I mean, if you're not ready, I definitely understand. Just, you know, if you could keep me in mind, that'd be great. So, what do you say?"

I blink, and then frown. "Sam, you're right, I'm not ready," I say; "but thank you for the offer."

He looks disappointed for a beat, before he sits up straight. "But you'll keep me in mind for when you are?"

I look at him, noticing the eagerness in his eyes and innocence in his face. If he knew what was good for him, he would stay as far away from me as possible. "Sure," I say anyway, and he flashes me a wide smile before practically bouncing away. I stare at him for a moment, shake my head and return to the problem. He's right when he says I do get that a lot. Guys coming up to me and asking me out when they know next to nothing about me. At least Sam and I have actually interacted before. Not that I want to date him or anything like that.

I have other things and other people on my mind. And one of those is walking in right now.

Rachel is chatting to Kurt as they enter the room and my eyes watch her closely. She's talking with her hands, which means she's very passionate about whatever the two divas are discussing. He's smiling at her, so it's not an argument. They stop in the middle of the floor, hovering as they finish their discussion. Then, with a hand on Kurt's forearm, Rachel says goodbye to him and makes her way to her seat. Next to me.

"I saw you looking," she says, digging in her bag for something. "Did you really think I would sit with anyone other than you?"

I smile, though I keep my eyes on the page in my lap. "You're not obligated to sit there, Berry," I say.

"Good," she says. "Regardless, I want to."

I glance at her. "I want you to, too."

She giggles. Then: "What are you doing?"

"Calculus."

"The AP version, you mean?"

I nod. "Integration isn't my favourite."

"Now you're just saying words to make me feel stupid," she quips, and I close my notebook to look at her properly. "What?" she asks when I haven't looked away once. "Quinn, what?"

"So, I've made a decision."

She blinks. "Okay... about what?"

I just smile.

"I'm not going to like it, am I?"

"Probably not," I tell her. " _Definitely_ not."

* * *

Rachel keeps shooting me dirty looks, which just makes me smirk that bit more. Honestly, this is probably the best day of my life, and I can't wait. The lesson is almost over, and I pinch Rachel's leg to get her moving. She sends one last glare at me before she clears her throat, sits up straight and raises her hand.

Mr Schuester looks at her. "Do you have a song prepared?" he asks.

She huffs, and I let out a laugh. I can't keep it in. "One could say that, yes," Rachel says as she gets to her feet. Her nose is high in the air and it's so funny. I can't stop laughing, and Santana is looking at me as if I've lost my mind. I might have, for all we know.

"The floor's all yours," Mr Schuester says.

Rachel moves towards Brad and hands over the necessary music. At his raised eyebrows, I burst out laughing, and Rachel sends me another glare. She looks suitably unimpressed right now, and she's so cute with her little pout and wrinkled brows. "Before I begin," she says; "I would just like to point out that I'm singing this song under extreme duress."

Puck frowns. "Duress?"

"She doesn't _want_ to, dumbass," Santana says.

"Santana," Mr Schuester admonishes.

She just shrugs, and our attention is back on Rachel, who's still glaring at me. I arch an eyebrow, questioning her honour. A deal is a deal. I won that wager fair and square, and now she has to sing a song of my choice.

"See," Rachel says; "I lost a bet to Miss Quinn Fabray over there, and she was allowed to choose a song for me to sing. This is, undoubtedly, her idea of a joke, _and_ a way to humiliate me."

I suddenly blink, the smile slipping from my face. I immediately launch myself out of my seat and move to stand in front of Rachel, shielding her from everyone's curious eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asks, clearly confused.

"I didn't even think," I rush in a whisper. "Gosh, Rachel, if you don't want to do this, you really don't have to. I don't _want_ to humiliate you. It's just supposed to be funny, but if you're - "

"Quinn," she cuts me off, her hand moving to cover my mouth. "Shut up. I'm singing - if one can even call it that. I never back out of a wager."

There's steel in her eyes, so I don't question her further. I just kind of kiss her fingers and she retracts her hand so fast, her wrist clicks. I wink at her, and then back away and return to my seat, ignoring all the looks I receive. It's difficult to ignore Finn's though. He hasn't stopped looking at me all day, and it's throwing me slightly. I've been _fine_. I mean, today is Friday, and I've survived yet another week without him. Why is he looking at me now?

Rachel clears her throat. "As disturbed as I was by this song choice, I intend to give it my all," she says, a familiar air of superiority about her. "I should apologise in advance. Just, prepare yourselves." She looks a little sheepish now, and her eyes meet mine for another moment, though there's no heat in her gaze. It's long enough for the music to start, and then Rachel Berry - _Rachel Berry_ \- is singing _Smack That_ by Akon featuring Eminem.

Santana looks at me, horrified, but I can't contain myself. My smile has taken hostage of my face, and _this is amazing_.

Rachel looks determined. " _I feel you creeping, I can see it from my shadow. Wanna jump up in my Lamborghini Gallardo. Maybe go to my place and just kick it like TaeBo, and possibly bend you over look back and watch me_." She tosses her head to the side, and I can't take my eyes off her. " _Smack that, all on the floor. Smack that, give me some more. Smack that, 'til you get sore. Smack that, oh-oh! Smack that, all on the floor. Smack that, give me some more. Smack that, 'til you get sore. Smack that, oh-oh_!"

Everyone looks like they're in shock, but I'm just so mesmerised.

" _Upfront style ready to attack now. Pull in the parking lot slow with the lac down. Convicts got the whole thing packed now. Step in the club now and wardrobe intact now! I feel it down and cracked now (ooh). I see it dull and backed now. I'm gonna call her, than I pull the mack down. Money no problem, pocket full of that now!_ " She's dancing now, hips swaying, and Santana groans beside me. " _I feel you creeping, I can see it from my shadow. Wanna jump up in my Lamborghini Gallardo. Maybe go to my place and just kick it like TaeBo, and possibly bend you over look back and watch me_."

Somewhat unsurprisingly, Puck and Lauren join in with the chorus. Puck is even smacking an imaginary ass. " _Smack that, all on the floor. Smack that, give me some more. Smack that, 'til you get sore. Smack that, oh-oh! Smack that, all on the floor. Smack that, give me some more. Smack that, 'til you get sore. Smack that, oh-oh_!"

Eminem's rap is coming up and Santana turns to me. "Please tell me she's not - "

She is, apparently, and she totally blows me away.

" _Ooh... Looks like another club banger. They better hang on when they throw this thing on. Get a little drink on. They gonna flip for this Akon shit, you can bank on it! Pedicure, manicure, kitty-cat claws. The way she climbs up and down them poles, looking like one of them putty-cat dolls, trying to hold my woodie back through my draws. Steps upstage didn't think I saw, creeps up behind me and she's like 'You're!' I'm like ya I know lets cut to the chase. No time to waste back to my place. Plus, from the club to the crib it's like a mile away, or more like a palace, shall I say. Plus I got pal if your gal is game. In fact he's the one singing the song that's playing. 'Akon_!'"

Rachel sucks in a breath, the rap having robbed her of breath. Mike and Brittany are up dancing, and Puck and Lauren are still singing along. This is amazing. This is honestly just totally amazing.

" _I feel you creeping, I can see it from my shadow. Wanna jump up in my Lamborghini Gallardo. Maybe go to my place and just kick it like TaeBo, and possibly bend you over look back and watch me. Smack that, all on the floor. Smack that, give me some more. Smack that, 'til you get sore. Smack that, oh-oh_!" She takes a breath, ready for another rap: Akon's this time. " _Eminem is rollin', d and em rollin' bo, and all marvelous them rolling. Women just holding big booty rolling_."

"She just said 'booty,'" Santana complains. "I'm scarred for life. I can't _un_ hear that."

" _Soon I'll be on Eminem throwing 'D!' Hitting no less than 'Three!' Block wheel style like 'Whee!' Girl, I can tell you want me 'cause lately I feel you creeping, I can see it from my shadow. Wanna jump up in my Lamborghini Gallardo. Maybe go to my place and just kick it like TaeBo, and possibly bend you over look back and watch me_."

Puck lets out a loud whoop when the song ends, and there are people who look decidedly uncomfortable, but _damn_. Rachel. Berry.

"Okay, okay," Mr Schuester suddenly says, and I'm crying; I'm laughing so hard. Santana isn't faring much better. "I think that's enough," he says, and Rachel just smiles innocently at him. He's also a little flushed, and this is the best day ever. Honestly, it is. "Thank you for that, Rachel."

She beams at him, does a small curtsy, and then walks back to her seat beside me.

"Damn, Berry, I didn't know you had it in you," Santana says, practically leering at her.

"We all know what she really wants _in_ her," Puck says, and I shoot him such a glare that he practically falls off his chair. I think he remembers a certain threat I made about his jewels and a certain meat grinder. I _will_ follow through.

"Ew," Mercedes says.

Rachel is blushing madly when she finally sits down and turns to look at me. "I hope you're happy," she says, her smile infectious.

I lean towards her, dropping the volume of my voice. Really, it comes out in a husk, and her eyes widen at the sound. "Oh, Rachel Berry," I murmur; "you have _no_ idea how happy you make me."

* * *

I notice the moment Hiram notices the dark bruise on my upper leg. His breath hitches, his grip on the steering wheel tightens and his eyes narrow. I wait patiently, counting in my head how long it will take him to bring it up. It's Saturday, so we're on our way to meet Florence, and I've just survived a gruelling Cheerios practice, a visit to the Emergency Room, the third degree by Rachel Berry, and now I'm _waiting_. I'm also a little groggy from the painkillers.

"What happened?" he eventually asks, his tone of voice tense. I don't blame him. The bruise is _huge_ and a dark purple, extending from the side of my thigh and over my knee. It's an eyesore and I definitely should have worn jeans to hide it, but I only have dresses and sweatpants with me at the Berry home.

"Cheerios accident," I tell him. "I'm a flyer, and there was a mishap with my bases and spotters, which ended up with Quinn Fabray falling through and hitting the floor," I explain, trying to ease his mind. "Sylvester sorted them out though, and it's doubtful there will be a mishap ever again in their lives."

He doesn't look happy about anything I've just said. "Does it hurt?"

 _Like hell_. "Not really," I lie.

He glances at me, notices my pinched eyes and sighs. "If you're in pain, you should say so, Quinn," he says, his voice gentle. "It's okay not to be so strong and put together all the time. Physically, emotionally, it's okay. There's no reason to hide it from any of us. We won't think any less of you, I can assure you."

I blink, but remain silent. He has _no idea_ what my threshold for physical pain is.

"Did you at least get it checked out?"

I nod. "Santana and Britt took me to the ER per Sylvester's orders," I tell him. I'm kind of a regular visitor to the Emergency Room. Santana reckons it's my second home... if I actually had a first. "It's why I'm a little late. Nothing's torn or broken. No internal bleeding. Just the mother of all bruises and a slight limp."

"Did LeRoy have a look at it?"

I swallow nervously. People aren't supposed to _care_. They've never cared before. "It's nothing, Hiram."

"If _that's_ nothing, then I - " he stops, eyeing me. "I suppose it doesn't hurt nearly as much as childbirth."

"We'll say that, yeah."

He sighs. "I still don't like it."

"That makes many of us," I say. "Rachel gave me a lecture about safety and how important it is to be aware at all times. She didn't appreciate it when I mentioned that there's very little you can do to prevent an injury when you're hurtling back towards the ground and your support's arms aren't linked properly."

He manages a smile. "I can only imagine," he says. "She worries about you. We all do."

I lean my head back against the headrest and sigh. "I'm not used to having people care about me this way," I tell him. "I've been doing things a certain for so long, Hiram. I've been alone for so long, making my own decisions and living my life the way I have. Before, all I had to contend with was Finn, who's always been simple, and Santana and Brittany, who have their own lives together." I look out the window. "I didn't even realise what I was missing. I've never known a family like yours. I didn't even know they existed, because Finn's isn't like this. Sure, his parents are caring, but I was always just their son's girlfriend. Santana's family is large enough, and Britt is their adopted daughter, really, and I've never been close to Britt's family." I fall silent.

"But you're ours now," he says.

I look at him. "I am, yes."

"Regardless of what happens in your life, Quinn, you'll always have a place with us. Please, never forget that."

I blink back tears. "Why are you so nice to me?"

"We're generally just nice people," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "It has nothing to do with you."

I let out a laugh. "That makes me feel much better, thank you."

"You're very welcome."

The rest of the drive is made in silence, and I try not to focus on my throbbing leg or the overwhelming feeling of being cared about by people who were practically strangers a little under two months ago. It's a bit of a relief to get to Hiram's office and see Florence. She looks happy to see me, which is also a bit odd to me. Hiram leaves us to work, but first I hear about her week and I tell her a bit about mine. She has questions about my bruise, and I tell her the same thing I told Hiram. Cheerleading accident. It's the truth.

We go through her work from the past week, noting the mistakes and improvements to be made, before we start planning for her upcoming assignments. She has her lists, and I like the distraction of work, and I enjoy how committed she is to what we're trying to do. It's our longest meeting yet and we get a lot done, given that her exams are coming up, and then we go on Christmas Break. As a result, I'm exhausted by the time Hiram and I are on our way home. I once mentioned to him that I wouldn't mind driving myself and possibly meeting Florence somewhere else, but he just shook his head and I haven't brought it up again.

I must fall asleep because, the next thing I know, Hiram is shaking me awake. I come to slowly, and try to smile away my embarrassment.

"Let's get you up to bed," he says gently.

I let him lead him me into the house and pass me to Rachel, who slips an arm around my waist. "Did she take her meds?" Rachel asks Hiram.

"I don't know."

Rachel looks at me, her free hand cupping my cheek. "Maybe you should eat something, take your meds, and then we can get you to sleep."

I just nod, and let her lead me to the kitchen where I proceed to try to wake myself up. I shake my head, wring my fingers together and scrub my face with my hands. Rachel smiles at me, clearly amused by my grogginess. "Stop it," I groan.

"I'm sorry," she says with a giggle, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pressing a kiss to my temple. "It's just that you're so cute right now; I can barely handle it."

I grumble. "I fell asleep with my contacts in," I say, still somewhat sleepily. "Please remind me to take them out before you take me to bed."

Her body tenses for a beat, her arm slides off me and she goes to the fridge to take out some leftover food. LeRoy isn't home, but I think Rachel can handle it. I just sit at the breakfast nook and watch her, my eyes tracking her movements. She places a plate of pasta in front of me and forces me to eat. I don't manage much but she deems it enough for me to take my meds, and then we go upstairs. I change in the bathroom, take out my contacts, and use the toilet before I crawl into her bed and _sigh_. Rachel is lying on the covers because she's catching a nap, apparently. It's still too early for sleep.

"You're always taking care of me," I say.

"Somebody has to," she says.

"Thank you."

"I'll always take care of you, Quinn."

I sigh contently, relaxing into the mattress.

"Plans for tomorrow?" she asks, her eyes trying to meet my unfocused ones, even as they slide closed.

I reach blindly for her hand between us and link our fingers. "Try to recover as best I can, go to church and try to make you smile all day."

She lets out a breath and it washes over me. "I think you're off to a good start," she whispers.

I open one eye. "Oh yeah?"

"Mmhmm," she hums.

"Why's that?" I ask as I shift closer, burying my face in the space between between her shoulder and her pillow. I feel her free hand slide around my back, pulling me closer and wrapping me in her warmth.

"Because I'm smiling."


	10. ten

**Chapter Ten**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _there_ _are_ _feelings  
_ _you haven't felt yet.  
_ _give them time.  
_ _they are almost there._

.

If, one day, someone asks me how it all started; I'll have to say it was a granola bar that finally did me in. I was pretty much a goner from the moment Quinn Fabray bit into _my_ granola bar, and then handed it back to me. It sounds stupid and simple but it's a moment that changes _something_ , though I'm still not sure what.

The confusion starts a few weeks after that day Quinn found out about Finn's lie to his teammates, but I'm able to pinpoint the moment the _idea_ sparks. Or something else clichéd like that, because I kind of go a little _crazy_.

It's a Saturday. I think it's important to mention that this specific Saturday is bucketloads more significant to me than our Sectionals' win at the time. Which should have been enough of a red flag for me. I should have paid closer attention to how waking up without Quinn beside me is more of a blip on my radar than entirely crushing the competition with our superb singing skills and decent dance moves.

It's Quinn. It's always going to be about Quinn, I suppose.

I wake up to an empty bed, which would be normal if my alarm isn't set for six o'clock, and Quinn's practice is only at seven o'clock. I sit up slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the sliver of light coming in through my curtains. Quinn isn't _gone_. Her duffel bag is still on the floor and I spy her car keys perched on my desk. So, where is she?

After a quick pitstop to the bathroom, I go looking. To be honest, I'm not sure what I'm expecting to find. She's a bit of an enigma, this Quinn Fabray; constantly surprising me with how complex and simple she can be without even having to try. I find her in the living room, her body spread out on the three-seater couch, as she scribbles something down on a small notepad. She's wearing her glasses, which is honestly the greatest thing I've ever seen in my entire life. It's illegal for a human being to look that good, seriously.

"Quinn?"

She sits up suddenly, hiding the notepad from sight. "Berry?" she questions, her eyes glancing at the clock on the far wall. "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same question," I say, moving further into the room. "Couldn't you sleep?"

She shakes her head. "I've got a bit on my mind."

"Is that why you're making a list?"

She looks at me for the longest time. "If you must know, Rachel, I'm actually brainstorming ideas for your birthday present," she informs me. "I want it to be special."

I frown. "Oh, Quinn, you know you don't have to get me anything," I tell her. "Just your friendship is enough."

She shakes her head. "No, I _have_ to get you something. This is your eighteenth birthday. It's important and it's special."

"Okay, fine," I relent. "Just, don't go overboard or anything," I say, before I backtrack. "Actually, don't even buy anything."

Her bow furrows. "Don't _buy_ anything?"

I nod, not even sure what I'm talking about right now.

"Uh, okay," she says hesitantly, but doesn't question me further. I just get a quick hug - during which I'm assaulted by the smell of Quinn and left slightly breathless - and then she's going back upstairs to get ready for her practice. I linger a while, trying to make sense of my reaction to Quinn's hug. It's not the first time I've felt breathless around her but it _is_ increasing in frequency and I don't know why. Am I suddenly allergic to the way she smells? That'll be hilarious to tell her. Maybe she's using a new perfume.

When I do finally recover, I go to the kitchen to make some breakfast for her. With the day she's about to face, she'll need the protein so, as much as it hurts, I put two eggs on the boil for her. Those poor baby chickens.

The things I do for Quinn Fabray.

Fifteen minutes later, Quinn breezes into the kitchen, dressed and ready for the nearly six hours she's going to have to run, jump and flip. I've been to one of her practices before and I don't think I could handle another one. Seeing her thrown into the air like a sack of potatoes almost put _me_ in the hospital, and nobody wants that. Her hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, not a single strand out of place, and her form-fitting McKinley t-shirt doesn't really leave much to the imagination. Thankfully, I catch myself staring before she does.

"Are these mine?" she asks, unnecessarily.

"No, I've decided not to be vegan for a day," I deadpan, and she rolls her eyes.

"Tone down the sarcasm, Berry," she murmurs; "It's way too early."

It's my turn to roll my eyes.

She grins at me. "Thank you, though."

I hum in acknowledgement and pour some coffee for her. Her smile widens when she takes the cup from me.

"We're like an old, married couple," she comments, her tone light. I don't know what about the simple words make me feel... uncomfortable. Is that the word? Just, something _off_ , that I probably wouldn't be able to explain if anyone asked.

After she's done eating, she quickly washes her dishes, grabs her things, kisses my cheek, and then leaves with a quick goodbye over her shoulder. I feel a little winded by it all, and it gives me something to focus on as I go through my morning routine. I'd go for a run but the snow's arrived, and I'm not ready to face it. I spend an hour on my elliptical, using the monotonous movement to sort through how strange I feel this particular morning.

It isn't a feeling that goes away, though. After she's done tutoring Florence, Quinn spends Saturday evening with Santana and Brittany. Sunday is church and then the park with me. She goes home straight after, and I have a growing feeling that she's hiding something from me. It grows and grows when, on Tuesday, she doesn't come over and I find out from Brittany on Wednesday that she was with Quinn when I was told she was home alone. She's lying, and we don't lie to each other.

She's absent from the Berry house on Wednesday and Thursday night, and it annoys me how unworried my dads seem to be. Quinn isn't here and she's obviously hiding something from me. From all of us? Why aren't they more concerned? Quinn isn't _here_.

And, by Friday, I learn why. The entire week, I've been convinced I did something wrong, and it's all reached a head. Quinn is smiling secretively at me though, even as she sits beside me in Glee. It's cute and unsettling, and I can't help thinking _this is it_. Her little experiment with me is over, and she's about to humiliate me in front of all my friends. I try to prepare myself. I try, desperately, not to feel overwhelmed by the crushing hurt that's threatening to overwhelm me. Because I'm feeling _very_ overwhelmed right now.

Which only escalates when Quinn raises her hand and asks Mr Schuester if she can sing something. She practically jumps up when he gives her the floor, and I hold my breath. She has this childlike enthusiasm about her today of all days, and it's making it really difficult for me to breathe.

"So," she starts; "as I'm sure all of you already know, it's Rachel's birthday on Sunday."

Oh.

 _Oh_.

She waits, her eyes studying each of our faces for recognition or surprise. She obviously doesn't like what she sees because her eyes narrow enough for some of my 'friends' to shift in their seats. Quinn Fabray, my hero, people. I feel a little silly having worried so much all week. "Well, anyway," she continues. "Britt, San and I have decided to sing a little something to her." She flashes me a smile and my heart thunders against my ribcage. "It's a little homage to right now, and to the future we all know you're going to accomplish. Happy birthday, Rachel Berry." She blows me a kiss, which renders me _stupid_.

Santana and Brittany stand and move to flank Quinn. They have a small discussion before they each grab a stool and Santana picks up a guitar. I glance nervously at Puck - our resident guitarist - and he does look equal parts shocked, annoyed and put-out. It's a strange expression on his face.

Quinn clears her throat, getting my attention, and then she starts to sing Taylor Swift's _Never Grow Up_ , albeit with a few altered lyrics to accommodate my dads. Her voice is soft, gentle, and it draws me into her eyes and into her very soul. She's telling me something important; I just know it. I'm just not ready for it.

" _Your little hands wrapped around my finger, and it's so quiet in the world tonight. Your little eyelids flutter cause you're dreaming. So, I tuck you in and turn on your favourite nightlight. To you, everything's funny. You got nothing to regret. I'd give all I have honey. If you could stay like that_." She smiles faintly - lucky number seven - and then Brittany and Santana join in.

" _Oh, darling, don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up. Just stay this little. Oh, darling, don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up. It could stay this simple. I won't let nobody hurt you; won't let no one break your heart. No one will desert you. Just try to never grow up. Never grow up_."

It's just Quinn again, her gaze meeting mine, and I feel a bit dizzy. " _You're in the car on the way to the movies, and you're mortified your_ dad _'s dropping you off. At fourteen, there's just so much you can't do, and you can't wait to move out someday and call your own shots. But don't make_ him _drop you off around the block. Remember that_ he _'s getting older too, and don't lose the way that you dance around in your p.j.s getting ready for school_."

The Unholy Trinity are back singing together but I can't take my eyes off Quinn even if I tried. " _Oh, darling, don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up. Just stay this little. Oh, darling, don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up. It could stay this simple, and no one's ever burned you. Nothing's ever left you scarred, and even though you want to. Just try to never grow up_."

I have this sinking feeling in my stomach as Quinn's voice invades my every senses. " _Take pictures in your mind of your childhood room. Memorise what it sounded like when your dad gets home. Remember the footsteps, remember the words said, and all your_ best friend _'s favourite songs. I just realised everything I have is someday gonna be gone_." She smiles again, but her eyes are shining. " _So, here I am in my new apartment. In a big city, they just dropped me off. It's so much colder than I thought it would be. So, I tuck myself in and turn my nightlight on_."

Quinn, Santana and Brittany start up again, their voices rolling in and out of one another; the various lines criss-crossing and overlapping in perfect harmony. " _Wish I'd never grown up. I wish I'd never grown up. Oh, I don't wanna grow up. Wish I'd never grown up, could still be little. Oh, I don't wanna grow up. Wish I'd never grown up. It could still be simple_." All three of them are looking at me now, and that overwhelming, all-consuming feeling is back. It's threatening. " _Oh, darling, don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up. Just stay this little. Oh, darling, don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up. It could stay this simple. I won't let nobody hurt you; won't let no one break your heart. And, even though you want to, please try to never grow up. Don't you ever grow up. Just never grow up_."

With a last strum of Santana's guitar, the room erupts in noise, and I just manage to be present enough to register what's happening around me. I'm aware of the fact I say words in response, smile and clap, but there's something happening inside of me and only Quinn seems to notice. She resumes her seat next to me as the excitement dies down, and I can see her nervously biting her bottom lip. I feel horrible.

When Mr Schuester finally dismisses us, neither Quinn nor I moves at all. I get a few well wishes as the others leave, and then it's just the two of us. I stand first, and she follows. I don't want to be sitting for this; whatever _this_ is.

"Rachel," she starts, trying to get my attention. It's the moment I realise I'm actually pacing.

I stop and turn to look at her. She looks confused, and my own confusion doesn't help. It makes me angry and irrationally so.

"Talk to me," she says, stepping towards me and moving to wrap her arms around me. I react in a way I've never reacted before, and it surprises us both.

"Back off," I suddenly say, and she steps back, surprised by the tone of my voice. "Please, just back off."

She takes another step back. "Rachel," she starts, her voice calm; "is something wrong?"

I swivel to face her, some unknown feeling taking lodging in the pit of my stomach. "Why did you do this?" I ask.

She risks a smile. "I wanted to do something nice for you," she explains. "I know you said you didn't want anything special, so I kind of made it more Rachel Berry friendly. It's, uh, it's technically homemade, you see, so I wasn't really breaking the rules. San and Britt really helped with the arrangement, though San probably won't ever admit it." She falls silent, clearly studying my face. I haven't actually reacted to anything she's said. "Did you not like it?" she asks, her voice quivering. "Rachel, did I do something wrong?"

Whatever has lodged itself in my stomach is growing and rising. "I _told_ you I didn't want anything," I tell her through gritted teeth.

"I thought - "

I interrupt. "You thought wrong," I say coldly. "Why didn't you just _listen_ to me?"

Quinn looks legitimately confused by my reaction and, frankly, I am too. "I didn't _buy_ anything," she defends, thinking that's the part that has me so uncomfortable. "I heard everything you said, Rachel, and I found a little loophole. I thought you'd like it. I thought you'd appreciate it."

And the thing is, I did. I liked it. Hell, I _loved_ it. And, of course I appreciated it. It's just - it all feels like so much and the overwhelming feeling is overriding everything good I want to be feeling in this moment. Which is the only reason I say what I say.

"You shouldn't have done this."

Quinn looks at me for the longest moment as if she can somehow read what's going on with me, and it just makes me feel angrier.

"Stop looking at me like that!" I snap, and she flinches.

"Like what?"

"Like you know what's going on."

She blinks in confusion. "Okay," she says, dropping her gaze. "I won't look at you."

"No!" I snap again. What the hell is wrong with me? "Why are you being so nice to me? Why do you keep doing nice things? When is the other shoe going to drop, Quinn? Stop messing with my feelings like this! I can't take it anymore! I can't stand it!"

"Rachel!" Quinn returns, her eyes widening. "Stop it," she warns. "I do nice things because you're my friend and I care about you. Stop thinking there's some ulterior motive because there isn't. I genuinely like spending time with you. I like _you_."

And that's the moment the string inside of me - the one holding whatever I'm feeling about all of this together - snaps, and everything just kind of immediately goes to shit. I don't even know what's happening, but it is and I'm so out of control that Quinn steps back, right out of my space as if she's worried I'll actually lash out with anything other than my words.

"I didn't ask for this!" I scream. "I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't ask for you and everything that comes with you. All the fucking confusion that comes with your pretty smiles and innocent touches. I didn't ask to feel like this!"

She continues to stare at me, her mouth hanging open in the most adorable way. The sight of it just makes me angrier.

"Why did you do this?" I yell. "Why did you do this to me? I was _fine_. I had my friends, I was comfortable. And then you came along with you perfect hair and perfect teeth and amazing eyes and your wonderful laugh and _urgh_." I scream. Like, _scream_ scream, tugging at my hair like a crazy person. "We weren't even friends. We were better as enemies because then I didn't know what _this_ was like. Why, Quinn, why? Why did you let me _feel_ what it's like to have your attention? To have you look at me and not scowl? To have you _smile_ at me? To hug you?" I'm crying now, sobbing uncontrollably. "Why did you do this to me?"

She steps towards me again, her arms lifting as if she thinks a hug is going to make this any better. Whatever the fuck this is.

"No!" I screech, and she stops dead. "Stay away from me! Stay away! God, what is happening?"

"Rachel," she pleads.

"No," I say again, shaking my head. "You did this to me. This is all your fault! You _made_ me feel all these things. Was this part of your plan all along? Is this what you wanted?"

Now she just looks even more confused - she wears it well - but my brain doesn't register it.

I keep going. "It's the only thing that makes sense," I say. "You did it on purpose. You came into my life, made me feel these things, all so you can laugh about it later! Why, Quinn? What did I ever do to you? I don't want this! This isn't - "

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says. "Please, just stop."

"No!" I back away. "Why did you do it? Do you think this is funny? None of this is funny!"

"I'm not laughing, Rachel."

"You should," I snap. "Your plan worked."

"What plan?"

"THIS!" I yell. "Look at me! I'm a fucking mess, and it's all because of _you_! Did you show up in front of my house on purpose? That's a lot of work for a fucking ruse, Quinn. Is Finn in on it? Santana? Britt? I mean, I have to give you props; it's diabolical, but even this is beneath you. But, then again, I can't say I'm surprised. You've done some hateful, hurtful things in the past. Why would Rachel Berry be any different?"

She blinks, forcing away tears.

"I was so stupid to think we could ever be friends," I say, and now she's crying fully. "You set out to do this from the very beginning, didn't you? I don't - I don't want this. Why do you want to hurt me? Why can't you be better? Why, Quinn?" I don't even know what question I'm asking her. Or, myself. "Why would you do this to me? What did I ever do to you? Why do you want to hurt me like this?"

She's at a loss for words and I turn on her, practically snarling.

"But it's you, isn't it? It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with how sick and twisted you really are. You pretend to be nice, but you're really just a cold-hearted bitch who doesn't know love and kindness." Her tears are flowing freely but I barely see them. I'm just _so_ angry, and it makes me even angrier not knowing why. "It's no wonder your family wants nothing to do with you!" I hiss. "I never could understand why Finn decided he didn't want you anymore, but now I do!"

Quinn's face morphs into one of utter devastation, and I have the wherewithal to register that single, pained look before she's opening her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. _Nothing_. Her eyes meet mine for the briefest moment, and I see the deep hurt in them before she's spinning on her heel and rushing away, leaving me feeling empty, spent, confused and sick to stomach.

When she's out of sight, I drop to my knees and sob. I cry and I cry and _ohmygod,_ what is happening?

When I've cried myself out, I manage to pull myself together enough to leave the choir room. I stop by my locker, pack my books for the weekend, and then go home. The drive is slow and made in silence. I don't need music and whatever emotions it'll evoke right now. I don't _deserve_ music.

I pull into the driveway, unsurprised to find Quinn's car nowhere in sight.

What did I do?

Oh, Quinn, what did I do?

I sit in my car for fifteen minutes before I get out. My movements are laboured and tired, and I feel horrible, right to the very marrow of my bones. I also feel dirty, like I've soiled everything that Quinn and I have built, in just one afternoon of total and utter _panic_.

When I enter the house, I half expect Quinn to pop out of somewhere, but I'm not that lucky. There _is_ someone in the house though. It's a good thing too, because I think I'm going to go crazy if I'm left alone.

"Daddy," I say, getting his attention as I move into the living room.

"Hi, Sweetheart," my Daddy says, glancing up from the newspaper he's reading. His eyes automatically look behind me, expecting to see Quinn. He frowns slightly when he realises it's just me, and then smiles when I notice. He's so transparent sometimes - he _loves_ Quinn. Everyone does.

"Quinn's not coming," I say dejectedly, and even I hear the sadness in my voice. His gaze meets mine and he asks the question silently. "We kind of had a fight."

He pats the couch beside him and I shuffle towards him, dropping my bag on the floor and collapsing on the leather. I feel his arm wrap around me and he draws me into a much-needed and undeserved hug. "Tell Daddy what's wrong," he says.

I sigh against him. "It was a stupid fight," I say. "A hurtful one, though."

"Oh, Sweetheart, what did she say to you?"

"It wasn't her," I confess quietly. "It was me."

He tenses. "Oh."

"I feel terrible about all of it, and I don't even know how or why it started," I continue. "I'm convinced I started the fight on purpose, just to - "

"To what?" he questions.

 _To hurt her_. I close my eyes. "I think I'm mad at her or something," I tell him.

"Did she do something?"

"It's not any one thing, Daddy," I say. "This week has been horrible. She was hiding something from me, and I was terrified it was over, and she did something so nice and I just..." I trail off. I sound like such a crazy person. "She's just - she's _everywhere_ , and I can't stop thinking about her and I can't escape her. I mean, I _dream_ about her, and I get all mopey when she's not around. I plan my life around her and I - " I stop suddenly. "I don't even know why that all makes me mad, but it does. What is wrong with me?"

He's quiet for a long moment. "There's nothing wrong with you, Rachel."

"But I just picked a fight with her for nothing, and I said such hurtful, hateful things to her, and I don't even know why," I say, tears springing to my eyes. "You didn't see her face... I just feel so horrible about it, and confused, and why is this happening? She's - she's my best friend and I'm supposed to protect her; not _hurt_ her. Why did I do that? Why would I do that? It felt awful. I _feel_ awful." He doesn't say anything. " _Daddy_?" The word sounds strangled as it leaves my throat

He tightens his grip on me, and his left hand covers the side of my head, forcing me to rest my head against him. "I don't know what to tell you, Sweetheart," he says. "Best friends fight sometimes. They say things they don't mean. Give her some space and then apologise. I'm sure she'll forgive you if you're sincere." His words just make me feel more miserable. "Come now," he soothes. "It's going to be okay. Just give it some time. Take a moment, try to work through what you're feeling, and then talk to Quinn. It's going to be okay."

He lets me cry until my tears dry up, and then I go upstairs to my bedroom, not feeling any better but not feeling any worse. There are so many items in my room that remind me of Quinn; that belong to her. Her notebooks are piled with mine on my desk, her pens and pencils thrown around its top. Her novels are on the nightstand on her side of my bed, and she leaves her spare set of glasses in the drawer. She has pyjamas and underwear in my closet and toiletries in my bathroom.

And I said those things to her.

I'm an awful person, I am. I _wanted_ to hurt her because I was mad at her for making me _feel_ things. All sorts of things that I don't understand, which is why I crawl onto my bed, grab for my dream journal and start writing down what I may or may not be feeling when it comes to Quinn Fabray like my Daddy suggested.

 _1\. I feel OVERWHELMED._

 _2._ _I feel s_ _uffocated._

 _3._ _I feel u_ _ncomfortable._

 _4._ _I feel i_ _rritated._

 _5._ _I feel f_ _lustered._

Wait. Flustered? What does that even mean? Coming up empty, I take a deep breath and keep going.

 _6._ _I feel a_ _ngry._

 _7._ _I feel g_ _uilty._

 _8._ _I feel c_ _onfused._

 _9._ _I feel i_ _rrational._

 _10._ _I feel e_ _xposed._

Okay. This isn't really helping me understand anything. It's almost as if I have a thesaurus in my head.

 _11._ _I feel v_ _ulnerable._

 _12._ _I feel s_ _afe._

Okay, those two are totally conflicting ideas. Oh, wait.

 _13._ _I feel c_ _onflicted._

 _14._ _I feel e_ _xcited._

I search my brain for why that could be and come up with the fact I've never had a friend like her. I've never really had a friend like anyone, so this is entirely new territory for me, and for her. I get excited to see her in the mornings, and it's torture having to wait for her to be done with Cheerios practice even though I keep myself occupied with vocal lessons and hours in the dance studio.

 _15._ _I feel j_ _ealous._

I know I've felt it before when it comes to her, like when she gives attention to other people. I acknowledge my tendency to react by hugging her a little longer and reminding her she's _my_ best friend. She's - she's mine. I've said it on more than one occasion.

 _16._ _I feel w_ _arm._

 _17._ _I feel n_ _oticed._

 _18._ _I feel c_ _ared for._

My chest starts to tighten when I remember the completely pained look on Quinn's face as my careless words cut through her. I don't want her to think I don't care about her. I know I'm going to have to apologise but I need to have a clear head when I do that. We both deserve that much before I make it any worse. What else do I feel when it comes to Quinn?

 _19._ _I feel s_ _een._

 _20._ _I feel a_ _dored._

 _21._ _I feel n_ _ervous._

 _22._ _I feel s_ _trong._

 _23._ _I feel t_ _rusted._

I stop to go over my list, and I realise I have to repeat a feeling.

 _24._ _I feel o_ _verwhelmed x 20000000000._

 _25._ _I feel h_ _eard._

 _26._ _I feel u_ _nderstood._

 _27._ _I feel a_ _ppreciated._

 _28._ _I feel s_ _pecial._

She really does make me feel special. It's the smallest things possible; like opening doors for me and bringing me single flowers whenever she comes over from Brittany's house. Even just a single look from her during Glee makes me feel as if I've accomplished something tremendous, and her acknowledgement is heavenly.

 _29._ _I feel g_ _rounded. (Stable.)_

 _30._ _I feel e_ _ncouraged._

 _31._ _I feel a_ _ccepted._

 _32._ _I feel h_ _appy._

Before this afternoon and before all the confusion, I was actually happy. And now...

I realise there are a lot of conflicting feelings written down but I do feel all of them. At any one time, sure, but also all at once. It's... _overwhelming_. I press my pen to the paper and convince myself to write the last feeling. The one I can no longer deny or put off any longer.

 _33._ _I feel l_ _oved._

With Quinn, I feel loved. It's in the way her eyes always meet mine, regardless of the situation we're in. She always looks to me, heat and understanding in her expression. It's in the gentle touches, for assurance and for comfort. It's in the way Quinn smiles at me, knowingly and contently. It's in the smoulder of her heated gaze, hazel claiming me and not releasing. It's in the -

When it hits me, it hits me _hard_ , and I sit bolt upright as if I've been electrocuted. Before I know it, I'm throwing the journal aside and racing out of my room in an instant, practically flying down the stairs and into the living room like a bat out of hell. My Dad's jaw drops at the sight of me, but my eyes are on my Daddy.

"Rachel," he says, sitting up straight and giving me his full attention.

"I figured it out," I say, breathlessly. My heart is pounding and my entire body feels like it's burning up. "You know, don't you?"

He nods slowly.

"Was it important I work it out on my own?"

He nods again, his eyes so kind and full of love and understanding.

I take a deep breath and settle myself. Everything is buzzing around me, but I feel so calm. I feel _relieved_ , to be able to understand what's been happening inside of me. I feel lighter somehow.

My Dad looks at me, slightly confused. "Rachel?"

I lick my lips and smile. "I figured it out," I say.

"What did you figure out, Sweetheart?"

"I like her," I say, feeling this weight lift off my chest at my confession. "There it is," I continue. "I like my best friend. I like _like_ her, and - " I stop, the blood suddenly draining from my face when the reality of the words I've just said out loud hit me.

My Daddy stands, worried. "Sweetheart?"

I shake my head, fighting off my panic. "I like Quinn."

And then, well, like the complete drama queen I am, I pass out.

* * *

I wake in my bed. My head is throbbing and my mouth feels gritty, as if I've just eaten sawdust. It takes me a moment to get my bearings and, when I force myself to sit up, I feel like I might throw up. The feeling becomes worse as my mind catches up and I remember all that's happened today: the present, the fight with Quinn and the realisation that -

I bury my face in my hands. I can't believe I passed out. Quinn would probably call me dramatic for such a thing... if she were talking to me. What if she never talks to me again? Oh, my gosh. I've ruined it all!

Before I can devolve into a pity party, I roll out of bed, visit the bathroom and then go downstairs. I can hear quiet voices coming from the living room, and I steel myself for the conversation that's sure to come.

"There she is," my Daddy says when I move into view. "How are you feeling, Sweetheart?"

I rub a hand over my face. "Pretty stupid," I say. "And embarrassed."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," he assures me. "Come, sit with us." He waves his hand and I shuffle into the room. I feel so off-kilter, top heavy in a way. Unbalanced. I was _so sure_ before, and now I'm just filled with dread. He pulls me down onto the couch beside him, and my Dad quickly comes to sit on my other side, making me the jam in a Berrymen sandwich.

My Dad rubs my back. "We should probably tell you that Quinn called my phone," he says, and I look at him with wide eyes. "She said that something happened between you two at school and she was worried. She thought, maybe, it was best we were both home early for you because you seemed, how did she put it, emotional and a little out of control."

I blink. "Is she mad at me?"

"I don't know," he says. "She sounded sad, but she didn't really allow me to ask her questions. I think the fact she called to warn us means there might be a day she isn't mad, if she even is. Give her some space for now."

"Oh, I don't plan on talking to her anytime soon."

My Daddy clears his throat. "Why is that, Sweetheart?"

"What am I supposed to say to her?" I ask, rhetorically. "I'm sorry I flew off the handle with you; I actually really like you; do you want to go on a date with me?" I laugh humourlessly. "She'll run so fast, we'll both get whiplash."

"Rachel," he breathes. "She's your best friend. I suspect she'll expect some kind of explanation."

"Then I'll tell her I was off my meds."

"But you're not on any meds, which is something Quinn knows, by the way."

I look at him. "Do you _want_ me to tell her? Because she'll never come back here, ever."

My Dad rubs my back again, getting my attention. "What I think your father is trying to say is that you probably shouldn't make decisions based on _other_ people's reactions. The question is: do _you_ want to tell her?"

I sigh, visibly deflating. "Until earlier today, I thought I was very in tune with my sexuality, Dad," I say. "I prided myself on knowing, being so sure, that I wanted an adoring, leading man in my life. In my future. I was content to wait for him. I mean, the chances of finding him in Lima were low anyway, and I set the dream aside. Quinn was never part of the plan." I shake my head. "I know the heart wants what the heart wants and all that, but this really seems to have come out of nowhere and I really didn't see it coming."

"Uh..."

I snap my head towards my Daddy. "What?"

"I don't know if it's as out of the blue as you think, Sweetheart," he says, his tone gentle. "Even before she showed up on our doorstep, Quinn was a fixture in our house, the good and the bad."

"I talked about her?"

He nods. "And then you became friends."

"And you never shut up about that," my Dad says, and my Daddy sends him a pointed look. "All I'm saying is that your father and I have been here to watch you two dance around each other these past few weeks, trying to figure out how to be friends when you've clearly been feeling something more from the very beginning."

"Am I that transparent?"

"No, of course not," he hurries to say. "But we're your fathers, Rachel."

"Do you think Quinn knows?" I ask, horrified.

My Daddy answers. "She might have an idea," he confesses. "If she didn't before, I think your outburst this afternoon might have clued her into it."

I drop my head, defeated. "I was so mean to her," I say. "I couldn't even stop myself. It all just came pouring out and she just stood there and took it. And now you tell me she called... after all of that... it makes me feel worse."

"She cares about you," he says. "And she'll want to help you come to terms with this, even if it's not in the way you want."

"What if I'm not strong enough for that?"

"I think we both know you're stronger than you think, Sweetheart."

I burrow into his side, and I just let them hold me. I have _this_ , but Quinn's probably alone at her house, worried over all that's happened... alone. It makes me feel worse, and I didn't think it was even possible. At some point, I excuse myself and go upstairs to my room. I take my phone out of my bag and pull up Quinn's contact. I have to say this. Tonight. If I can't manage anything else, I have to say this.

 **Berry: I'm sorry.**

I don't know what else I can say in a text message. We should talk, definitely, but not today. Or tomorrow.

 **Berry: I'm sorry for what I said and how I reacted today. I want to explain it all to you, but do you think we can take the weekend? I'm still a little confused about a few things and I imagine you're still mad at me. Can we please talk about all of this on Monday at school?**

I don't expect a reply. At all. So, imagine my surprise when my phone actually buzzes when I crawl into bed a mere hour later.

 _Quinn: Okay, Berry. Feel better._

 _Quinn: And happy birthday for Sunday. I'm sorry I won't get to see you, but I hope you have a wonderful day, little star. X_

Gah.

She's so stinking cute.

Granola bars and flour on noses... okay, so, maybe it started well before then, after all.


	11. eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _if we must_ _both_ _be right.  
_ _we will_ _lose_ _each other._

 _._

"Quinn?"

Even though I should expect it, I still startle at the sound of her voice, and I whip around so fast, I actually catch my eyebrow on the lock of my locker. "Oh, damn," I hiss, the heel of my palm flying to the trauma site. I've lost my bearings but I know the feel of Rachel's hands and they're on me now. One is on my forearm and the other on my hip, as if she's trying to steady me, but I feel her everywhere.

I step away, my back hitting the lockers. Gosh, it hurts. I pull my hand away from my eyebrow, only for her to scream at me to keep it there, which I hasten to do.

"It's bleeding," she rushes. "There's so much blood. Why is there so much blood?"

Blood? What on earth?

Ignoring her, I pull my hand away again and inspect it. Yip. That's definitely blood. I get dizzy immediately, queasy, as I feel the blood drip down the side of my face and down onto my uniform. It's going everywhere so I close my eyes and try desperately not to smell or taste it.

Rachel waits a beat before the hand originally stemming the flow of blood is replaced by the sleeve of her sweater. "So much blood," she mumbles in disbelief. "We should get you to the nurse."

I want to tell her to leave me alone. I want to tell her to go away, but the words won't come. I can barely think, really. I mean, one would assume I would be accustomed to nearly everything, seeing as I've pushed a literal human being out of my body, but no. This is different anyway. There is actual blood in my mouth. If that isn't enough to make a person freak out, I don't know what is.

"Let's go," she says, her free arm sliding around my waist and supporting me. I grip her sweater in a tight fist and we walk, slow and steady... wins the race. She doesn't say anything other than giving me directions and repeating how much blood there is.

Nurse Davis practically jumps out of her seat when we enter the sick bay, her eyes wide. "What on earth happened?" she asks.

"Quinn had a disagreement with a locker," Rachel answers and, on another day, I would probably laugh.

"Come through," Nurse Davis says, "sit her down on the bed."

I'm guided to a bed and I practically collapse on it, my legs giving way. I sit up straight, my eyes closed and try not to think about all the circumstances that led to me being right here, in this position, right now. I don't know whether I would laugh or cry.

"Remove your sleeve, Miss Berry," the Nurse says, and Rachel does. This time, the pressure is replaced with a cotton swab. "Wow," she says; "that looks nasty."

"That's not helpful," Rachel mutters.

"Sorry," she mutters. Then, to me, she says, "Tilt your head to the left. Let me wipe your face so you can open your eyes. I don't want to mess your uniform any further."

I do as she says and I feel a wet swab work its way down the side of my face, over my eye, cheek, nose, lips, chin, jaw, neck, collarbone, down to my -

I squirm.

"I'm a healthcare professional, Miss Fabray," Nurse Davis says. "I've seen it all, I can assure you."

It's not her I'm worried about.

"I'll just wait outside," Rachel says, and I hear shuffling feet.

Nurse Davis spends the next minute cleaning both my face and the wound and, when I open my eyes, the brightness makes me frown. Which hurts my wound. I gargle my mouth, trying to ignore the tinny taste of the blood. I've never particularly been fond of the taste of it. "We're going to have to go to the ER," she says. "You need stitches."

I groan.

"I know," she says sympathetically. "It shouldn't take long though. I'll have you back as quickly as possible." She takes my hand and places it over the cotton swab currently hiding the extent of my injury. Coach Sylvester is going to kill me. My face is her money-maker, as she tells me. I would be Head Cheerleader because I'm talented and ruthless, but my face definitely helps. She's a strange woman.

"Give me a few minutes to lock up here, and then we'll go," she says, and then she leaves me sitting on the bed.

Rachel comes in a moment later, her face guilty and sorrowful. "I'm sorry," she says. "I always thought this would happen one day."

"Because startling me at my locker is one of your favourite things to do," I deadpan.

She drags her bottom lip between her teeth and I watch the movement with hooded eyes. "It is, yes," she confesses, blushing slightly. "Nurse Davis says she has to take you to the hospital?"

I nod. "I need stitches, apparently." She covers her mouth with her hand, and I spot my blood on her sleeve for the first time. "You should probably change that," I say, gesturing to her sleeve with my free hand. "Do you have a spare?"

"I should," she says; "from the slushy days."

I drop my gaze. "If you don't; just grab something from my duffel if you need to. It's in my Cheerios' locker." I take a breath. "Sorry for bleeding all over you."

"I didn't really give you much of a choice."

I shrug.

Nurse Davis comes back in, with her coat on, and her keys and purse in her hands. "Ready to go?"

I glance at Rachel, who looks like she wants to say something.

Nurse Davis takes it away from her. "Miss Berry, you should probably get to class," she says. "Miss Fabray will be fine. Maybe some bruising and a bit of a headache, but nothing she hasn't faced as a Cheerio." That's true. In hindsight, _this_ is nothing - I've experienced a lot worse. It's just... it's my _face_. I can't exactly hide that.

Rachel looks at me, asking the silent question. "I'm fine," I tell her. "We'll, uh, we can talk later, okay?"

She just nods, and then ducks out of the room, leaving me to the mercy of Nurse Davis. I'm not too sure about this woman, really. The calibre of teachers at McKinley is already suspect enough - really, Mr Schuester is probably the worst Spanish teacher in existence - so I imagine their support staff isn't any better. She drives us in her little blue car. My legs are too long for it and it's decidedly uncomfortable.

The wait in the Emergency Room doesn't help my mood either. I'm grumpy and, yes, I have a headache. Nurse Davis keeps chattering away next to me, trying to distract me with stories about her kids and _The Chronicles of Narnia_ , but all I can really think about is Rachel's guilty look; those big, beautiful brown eyes with all the sorrow and understanding. We're supposed to talk, and now _this_.

When we're finally seen to, it's by a young doctor who looks like he's still in diapers. His hands, however, are steady, which is the only reason I let him anywhere near my face with a needle and thread. He stitches quickly and neatly, and I give them a thorough inspection in the mirror before I deem them suitable. Nurse Davis deals with the paperwork while he dresses the wound and instructs me on proper cleaning. I'm only half-listening to him. I've been here before.

It's already the start of third period when we get back to school. Nurse Davis writes me a note, tells me to come back if I'm feeling dizzy or nauseous, and then sends me on my way. I don't bother going to U.S. History. Instead, I go to the library to find Rachel or, if she's not there, catch a nap. But she is. She's sitting at her usual desk, scribbling something down on a notepad and looking decidedly distracted. She's nibbling at her bottom lip and her right leg is bouncing. It's cute.

She practically jumps out of her seat when she spots me, and rounds the table in a rush. "Oh, Quinn," she breathes, her eyes wide. It's probably the extent of the bruising that's caught her up. Who knew a locker could be so dangerous? "How are you feeling? Does it hurt? I'm so sorry."

I manage a smile. "I'm fine," I say. "It hurts a little, but I suspect you have an Advil for me."

She lets out a small laugh. "Do you actually want some?"

"I'm good for now, thank you," I say. "Nurse D hooked me up."

She looks at me for the longest time, trying to decipher how okay I truly am. I'm unable to hide anything from her anymore; I don't even want to. "The rumour mill is running wild," she says, turning and moving to sit back down.

"Oh yeah?" I question, sitting down in the chair opposite her. There are two desks between us, which I'm thankful for, but also hate. "The whole disagreement with a locker story not going down well?"

She shakes her head. "Rumour has it, you and I got into a scuffle," she says. "Santana cornered me before Spanish, which was frightening, but I was able to set things straight. She's making sure the school knows you weren't taken down by a midget."

I smile. "Santana Lopez, defending my honour."

"She's a girl on a mission."

"I can imagine."

We fall silent and the reality of what we're trying to avoid crashes down on us. My breathing quickens and I fidget with my hands, just waiting. I need her to start. I need to know where her head is first before I reveal my cards.

"Quinn," she starts, and I look up. "I am so sorry for Friday," she says, and I can hear the anguish in her voice. "I really didn't mean anything I said. I don't think any of those things. Really, I don't, Quinn, you have to believe that. I think you are wonderful, and you know how much contempt I have for your family, and Finn is a complete idiot. I _don't_ think any of those things. Please, just, know that. I'm so sorry I hurt you, because I know I did. And, at the time, I kind of knew I was doing it... I just - I was going through my own crisis, and I never should have taken it out on you that way, or in any way at all. It's just, well, I had myself convinced you were the source of my anger, and I just couldn't contain it."

"I still don't understand, Rachel," I say, careful and hesitant. "Was it to do with the song?"

"No," she answers quickly. "I loved the song, and I love that you do all these lovely, adorable things for me. I just wasn't ready for it. I wasn't ready for _you_."

I frown. "I'm still not following."

She leans forward slightly, discreetly looking around us to make sure nobody is within earshot. "For want of a better term, I'd say I suffered an emotional _break_ on Friday. I pretty much lost it in front of you. I - I was feeling a lot of things already and then the song just tipped me over and I couldn't handle it because I didn't understand. But I understand perfectly now, which is why I can now explain it to you."

There are things I expect her to say. I mean, I've also spent the weekend evaluating things and talking with my Reverend, so there are things I expect to hear. However, the words still surprise me, freezing the air all around me.

"I like you."

I blink.

She takes a breath, steeling herself. "I thought, maybe, feeling all these things because we're new friends, and neither of us has ever had a friend like this, but then I looked at it objectively. I went through all our interactions and my responses to those interactions. This weekend, not seeing you, not being able to talk to you, was torture. It physically hurt and, when I saw you this morning, I felt this rush of excitement, and I can't deny it. I can't, Quinn, and I think I'd be doing us both a disservice if I were to try to. I like you, in the not friendly way. I like you in the _big_ way, and I'm sorry I hurt you in the process of figuring it out.

"I don't know if I'm actually gay," she continues. "I - I still find boys attractive. I just - it's _you_ , and I wouldn't be fair to either of us if I didn't accept and acknowledge it. So, I'm sorry I'm ruining our friendship like this. I didn't mean for it to happen, believe me. It just - it just did, and I had to tell you. I considered not telling you, but we've always told each other the truth, and I don't think I would be true to either of us if you didn't know. Which is why you now know. What happens now is up to you." She sits back again, and just waits.

I just stare at her, my head spinning. I'm dizzy and a little nauseous, but not because of the injury. Rachel likes me. She sounds so sure. How can she be so sure?

"Are you sure you - like - _me_?" I force out.

She nods once. "Very."

I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. "Rachel, I'm not - "

"Gay, I know," she interrupts.

"Rachel," I say. "It's my turn to talk."

"Sorry."

I try again. "Look, I won't lie and say that Friday didn't hurt me, because it did. A lot. I thought I did this nice thing for you, and you threw it right back in my face by saying things that you _know_ I struggle with, and I didn't know why. I can excuse many things, and I suppose I might have deserved all you said, given all the torture I put you through in the past." She looks like she wants to argue with me, but I just keep talking. "It's just what I feel sometimes, but I've spent the weekend considering everything. I just, well, I'm sorry that what I did led to your, uh, emotional _break_. It didn't look all that fun."

"It wasn't."

I arch an eyebrow.

"Sorry," she murmurs. "You're talking. Keep going."

I lean forward. "I've spent the weekend thinking about things as well," I tell her. "It _was_ torture not talking to you. I had to restrain myself a few times. I even locked my phone and car keys in my bathroom to stop myself from doing anything crazy, which brought me to my own conclusion..." I trail off. This is monumental, isn't it? This - this changes everything. "You and I, we've never really just been friends, have we?"

She waits a beat. "Can I talk now?"

I cover my eyes with my hand. "Fine, yes."

"No, we haven't," she says. "I think, on some subconscious level, we've always been _more_ , Quinn."

I nod. "I have to admit that I've also been feeling some, uh, _feelings_ ," I admit, and her eyebrows rise up in surprise. She definitely wasn't expecting to hear that and, frankly, neither was I. "I don't really know what that all means, to be honest, because - " I stop. "What I _was_ going to say before you first interrupted me is that I'm not _ready_. Whether or not I'm, uh, gay seems moot at this point because I'm not ready for anything or anyone, regardless of gender."

She's frowning now.

"What?" I ask.

"You're not disgusted? You're not planning my intervention or telling me it's a sin?"

I frown. "Rachel Berry, I'm going to chalk those questions up to part of your _break_ because do you forget who my two best friends are?" I say, meeting her gaze with a steely look of my own. "I made peace between my religion and homosexuality a long time ago. I'm neither disgusted by it, nor do I believe it is a sin. I believe in love. It's _my_ belief. I've even spoken with my Reverend at great lengths about it."

"You have?"

"I have."

"Why?"

"I've always harboured the idea that, as life evolves, so too should everything else," I tell her. "Ideology and theology always have room for growth and adaptation. Reconciling my beliefs with my feelings has been both enlightening and frightening." I take a breath, unsure if I want to reveal that I've discussed her and our relationship with my Reverend. "I also spoke to LeRoy about it."

"You did? When?"

"Yesterday."

She breathes out, clearly trying to process what I've told her. She looks to be failing. "Okay, now it's my turn not to understand. What exactly are you trying to tell me right now?"

"Are we still friends?" I ask.

"Of course."

"Do you want more than that with me?"

She hesitates.

"It's okay, Rachel; you can tell me," I assure her. "Do you?"

She nods slowly, her eyes darting about as if she's worried I'll take off at the sound of her admission.

"I want us to be friends," I tell her. "Best friends."

She waits.

"I'm - I'm not ready for anything more," I tell her. "After Finn, and with all this stuff going on with my family, I'm not ready."

Still, she waits.

"But, if I were, _when_ I am; I think we can address the topic of _more_ again," I tell her. "If you'll still be open to that, I mean."

She stares at me, her mouth hanging open slightly. It's a cute look, and I have to stop myself from telling her so. "Is this really happening?" she asks.

I nod. "It's really happening."

She breathes out, eyes wide. "What happens now?"

"Well, I think you should tell me what you're comfortable with, because the things I do clearly make you a little unhinged and, as much fun as it is to be chewed out, I'd rather not go through it again."

She ducks her head and blushes. "Can we maybe, uh, try to go back to how things were, and I can just feel out how comfortable I am with things? I can tell you as we go along, and we can establish a new normal?"

I nod. "I think that makes the most sense," I agree, and we fall into silence. It has the potential to turn awkward, so I clear my throat and sit up straight. "So, how was your birthday?"

She suddenly looks miserable. "Awful. Just awful." She rubs her face with her hands. "I was in no mood to celebrate and my dads were walking on eggshells around me all day. Even the calls and texts I received did nothing to lift my spirits. I pretty much studied all day."

I grimace. "So, as far as birthdays go, it was terrible?"

"I've definitely had better."

I take a deep breath, turning the idea over in my head. "Can I come over after Glee?" I ask, somewhat warily. "We can maybe try to celebrate. I can even bake a cake. I know it won't be like - "

She interrupts me. "I'd really like that, Quinn."

I smile, relieved, before I glance at the clock on the wall. Fourth period is about to start. "I should go," I say, starting to stand. "See you at lunch?"

She nods. "I'll give you fair warning before I get to your locker, so we don't have a repeat performance of this morning," she says, referring to my injured eyebrow.

"No, we don't want that," I agree as I straighten my back and push in my chair.

She regards me for a moment before she also gets to her feet and comes to stand in front of me. "I don't want things to be awkward," she says. "So, I'm going to hug you now, okay?"

I swallow nervously. "Okay."

She hesitates for only a moment before she snakes her arms around my neck and pulls me close. She's so warm and soft, and I've missed her so much. I immediately wrap my arms around her waist, squeeze tight, and relax into the familiar embrace. For _just friends_ , we hug for an obscene amount of time, and we're both blushing when we finally pull apart. "See you at lunch," she says, ducking her head, and I have to hightail it out of there before I say or do something stupid.

Santana has questions a plenty when I get to class, and she can't stop staring at the bruise. "A _locker_ did that?"

"I was moving very fast," I confess with an embarrassed nod.

"Jesus Christ," she murmurs. "Remind me never to piss off a locker."

I let out a laugh, and then quieten when people look my way. Normally, I would arch a deadly HBIC eyebrow, but it hurts and my eyebrows are staying as still as possible until at least the throbbing subsides. "I wouldn't recommend it, no."

"So, did you and the midget kiss and make up?"

I breathe out, forcing away my blush. "She said you cornered her earlier?" I ask, dodging the question.

"If you'd heard the shit this school was spewing, you would've thought the baby Jew stabbed you with a fucking stake."

I shake my head, unnerved. "Have you sorted it out?" I ask.

"I've done what I can for now," she says. "We'll have to do more during lunch. Maybe you can use some concealer to cover up some of that. It's making me feel sick just looking at it."

"How you expect to become a doctor like your father, I'll never know."

She scowls at me, but it's quickly replaced by a smirk. "If I didn't know the real story; I'd think you looked rather badass."

 _Of course_. I turn my attention to the front of the class and try to pay attention when the teacher starts speaking. I'm going to have to catch up on the revision work from my last three classes, and I'm already making plans on how to do that because my last three exams are going to kill me. I'll need lists. I'm writing two on Wednesday and one on Thursday, and just the idea of them is giving me anxiety. I also still have to go Christmas shopping, which, admittedly, I'm looking forward to. I'm staying away from songs from now on.

When the bell rings, Santana gets up. "I'm meeting Britt for a quickie," she murmurs, all smug. "See you at the table." And then she's going.

"Stay safe," I call out, and she flips me the bird. I'm still smiling when a figure looms over my desk, casting a shadow. I look up to see Finn squinting at me, as if he's confused about something. I know he's not in my class - it's AP - which means he was clearly waiting to talk to me. When Santana's gone. When I'm alone.

I want to arch an eyebrow, but end up cursing my stupid locker.

"Hello, Finn," I say carefully, as I close my notebook and zip away my pens. "What brings you by?" I ask as I rise to my feet, perfectly poised.

"What really happened to your forehead?"

"Didn't you hear?" I toss at him. "Berry and I got into a little fight. The little dynamite really packs a punch."

"Quinn," he says, clearly unimpressed. "What happened? It looks painful."

I'll admit I'm a little caught off guard by the care in his voice. "Uh, I just sort of collided with my locker door," I explain. "It _is_ painful."

"I'm sorry," he says quietly before he clears his throat. "Well, I just wanted to check on you," he says, his fingers twitching. He's nervous and I don't know why. "Make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine, thank you, Finn."

"Sure," he says, rocking on his heels. "Do you - uh, can I walk you to your locker?" he asks. "I could maybe have a stern talk with it to make sure it doesn't do it again."

Despite myself, I laugh out loud, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I don't know how to feel about _that_ , but I still let him walk me to my locker. He doesn't say much, which I appreciate. I giggle when he _does_ berate my locker for trying to hurt me, and he smiles at me. Once upon a time, I would have been weak at the knees to get _that_ smile from him, but not today. Not with _him_.

"I'll see you at the tables?" he asks, hope in his voice.

I nod. "I'll be there shortly," I say; "just got to take care of this bruised face." My bruised ego, I can deal with later.

"Awesome," he says, and then he takes off. I watch him until he disappears, trying to understand just what happened. Finn was _sweet_. I haven't seen that side of him since _before_ , and it's thrown me a little. Does he really still care - about me?

I'm still staring at the place where Finn last was when Rachel moves into sight, and my heart rate immediately rises. She looks a little confused by the fact I'm just standing there, staring into space.

"Hey, you," she says.

I shake myself out of my reverie. "Hi," I breathe, smiling at her.

"Are you okay?"

I nod. "Just been a strange day."

"Oh?"

"Good strange, though," I assure her; "but still strange."

"Are there any take-backs?"

"It's been only an hour, Rachel," I remind her.

"It was a nervous hour."

My features soften and I change the subject. "LeRoy mentioned he was sending me a little something," I say.

She laughs. "He _did_ , yes," she says. "I think he did it to make sure I didn't chicken out of talking to you today. I wouldn't be able to handle his wounded puppy look if he knew I didn't feed you."

"I'm starving."

"Put your things away, we'll grab it from my locker and... go to the choir room?"

I think of Santana, and then of Finn, but then _Rachel_. The answer's simple. "Sure." I do text Santana when we get to the choir room, just letting her know where I am. I _should_ be in the cafeteria to help her do damage control, which is what she tells me.

 _ **San: Bitch, don't leave me to do this shit alone!**_

I laugh.

 _Head Bitch: Sorry, but I'm not sorry._

 _ **San: I hate you.**_

 _Head Bitch_ _: I love you, too._

 _Head Bitch_ _: Please._

 _ **San: Fine. Whatever. I'll sort it out. Enjoy lunch with your girl ;***_

I swallow nervously, pocket my phone and give Rachel my undivided attention. There are moments that are awkward, of course. We're moving into this new phase where we're very _aware_ of each other. I question each touch now, and she hesitates before reaching out. I'm sure it'll get better with time, so I'm not too worried about it. I have this somewhat irrational idea that we're always going to be okay, no matter what happens.

The rest of the day goes well, given the circumstances. I'm forced to say a few choice words to Puck when he makes a lewd comment in the corridor between Chemistry and Psych, which people overhear and should set things straight. Glee is actually _fun_. Mr Schuester's assignment is Christmas songs, which is expected, and Mercedes already has a song prepared. It's lovely and poignant, and it really gets us into the mood for Christmas.

When we're dismissed, Rachel is prattling away about what songs she wants to sing on Wednesday - Friday is already a holiday - and her excitement is contagious. I feel it in my chest, and right in my bones. I'm finally... excited... for Christmas; for _life_.

I follow Rachel to her house, and I feel a little nervous as we pull up in her driveway, my car behind hers. I remain where I am until she comes to get me, tapping on my window and smiling sheepishly. When I get out, she takes hold of both of my hands.

"Are you nervous?" she asks, reading my face.

"A little," I admit. "What are we telling your dads?"

"What do you want to tell them?"

I squeeze her fingers. "I suspect we'll need their help to figure this all out," I say. "It's - it's _a lot_."

I feel her right hand slide up my arm, over my bicep and onto my shoulder. I shiver, and it's not from the cold, which it is. It's very cold. "Then we'll tell them," she says. "We'll tell them. Whatever it is we have to tell them."

" _I'll_ tell them."

She breathes out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

I smile warmly, and then fetch my bag from the backseat of my car. She takes hold of my hand when I'm ready, and we head into the house. Only LeRoy is home, and he looks up in surprise and understanding when he spots us. When his eyes drift to my forehead, his eyes widen in concern, and he practically jumps up, displacing the papers in his lap.

"What happened?" he asks.

Rachel lets out an embarrassed laugh as she releases my hand and walks towards LeRoy. "Easy there, Daddy," she says, setting down her bag. "We just had a bit of a disagreement."

His eyes widen. "With... _each other_?"

Rachel nods.

" _You_ did that?"

Rachel looks over her shoulder at me, a smirk on her face, and my breath hitches. _Oh, Rachel Berry_.

"Quinn?" LeRoy asks, his voice strangled. "What really happened?"

I school my features. "Well, you see, I was just standing at my locker, innocently getting my books when Rachel came out of nowhere and basically _attacked_ me."

LeRoy looks scandalised, and I can't handle it anymore. Rachel and I burst out laughing at the same time, and it feels _so good_ to laugh with her again. I step further into the living room and LeRoy's face morphs into real concern, despite the fact he's realised we were just messing with him.

He moves towards me, his hands lifting to inspect my face. "Oh, Honey, what _really_ happened?"

The care in his voice is so touching; my smile slips off my face and my bottom lip trembles as tears spring to my eyes. "I, uh - "

Rachel explains everything that happened, rambling slightly, but she gets it out, and LeRoy's shoulders seems to sag in relief when he learns I saw a fellow medical professional. Even though he's now heavily involved in hospital administration, he's still a practicing physician. It wasn't a decision he came to easily, but prejudices and the promise of regular hours ultimately tipped the scales for him.

"I'll take a look at it later," he says before leaning forward and kissing my hairline. "Now, tell me, are you two _okay_?"

Rachel glances at me, and I straighten. "We're okay," I say. "We're friends. Best friends."

He nods thoughtfully, his eyes flicking nervously at Rachel. "Okay."

I look at Rachel. "Do you think you could give us a moment?" I ask, and she looks nervously between us before she lifts her bag, tells us to play nice, and then heads upstairs to her bedroom. I wait for her door to close before I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding. I look at LeRoy. "She told me - " I start; "she told me she likes me."

"Are you surprised?"

I take a moment to think about it. "Not about _that_ , if I'm being honest," I say. "It's that she sounds so _sure_."

"But you're not?"

I take in a jagged breath. "I'm not - I'm not ready." I drop my gaze. "I don't want to start anything with anyone. I just got out of a relationship that consumed me, and my mom is being - " I stop. "She's being _weird_ , and I won't put Rachel through all my crap when I'm not as sure as she is." I wait. "Yet."

LeRoy regards me for a moment. "You really _do_ like her, don't you?"

I don't respond to that. "So, I was thinking of baking her a vegan birthday cake," I say instead, which, in hindsight, is answer enough for him. I can't help my blush. "She said yesterday wasn't all that _celebratory_."

"No, it really wasn't," he says. "We tried, but she just wasn't feeling up for anything."

"Do you think we can try again tonight?" I ask.

Before I know what's happening, he's pulling me into a tight hug. "We missed you," he whispers into my hair. Then, composing himself, he pulls back and says, "So, about this belated birthday, what exactly did you have in mind?"

* * *

Rachel is wearing one of her Argyle sweaters today, the one with the owl, and she looks _happy_. I know I shouldn't think it but there's a part of me that acknowledges I might have a little something to do with it.

"God, that sweater!" Santana exclaims as she, Brittany and I glide down the corridor. "Please, Q, when you tap that; _fix that_."

I blush through my indignation, but say nothing. "I'm going to say hi to her," I say. "See you in class?"

Santana rolls her eyes but, thankfully, makes no comment, and I'm able to veer off to the right, smiling at the fact that Rachel is already looking at me. She rocks on her heels, keeping herself in place.

"Hug," I say, and she launches herself at me. I stumble slightly, but I can't help my laugh as I hug her back. It doesn't last as long as either of us want, but we're in public, so I let go and she steps back. "Hi," I say.

"Hello."

"So."

"What?"

"My mom wants to have dinner with me tonight," I tell her, which makes her eyes widen. "That's _exactly_ how I reacted."

"Do you know why?"

I shrug. "It might be to do with the holidays," I offer. "Or, maybe she's catching a conscience for being so distant."

"I hope it's nothing bad."

"I'm sure it's nothing."

I'm wrong.

* * *

When I tell Rachel what my mother discussed with me during lunch on Wednesday, she looks livid. She's pacing in front of me, quietly fuming, and I find it so adorable. My little protector. My hero, everyone, looking all kinds of cute as she mutters to herself, probably planning ways to make my mother's life as miserable as the woman's trying to make mine.

"But," she sputters; "but how can she do this?"

"Well, technically, I'm _still_ a minor, so she can do whatever she wants," I tell her. "I mean, it's not the _worst_ thing to happen to me."

"But I don't want you to go with her," she huffs, pouting.

"I don't want to go with her either," I say. "And, believe me, the _last_ person I want to spend Christmas with is my sister, but my mom is going to Sacramento, and she won't leave me behind. She made herself perfectly clear on that front. I _will_ be leaving with her on Friday, and I have no say in the matter."

Rachel still looks put-out, as if I've just told her I kicked her puppy. I stand and move to where she's still pacing on the choir room floor. I reach for her and she comes to a stop in front of me. I place my hands on her hips and bring her close.

"What's wrong?" I ask her.

"Nothing," she says petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest like a child.

I sigh. "Talk to me."

"I don't like it," she says. "I don't want you to be subjected to a Christmas where you'll be judged and you'll be uncomfortable. I want you to have a Christmas with people who aren't afraid to show how much they love you; people who _want_ to spend all their time with you." She meets my gaze. "You're supposed to be spending it _with me_."

I'm sure she's saying a lot right now, but I get lost in the earnestness in her eyes. "I wish I was spending it with you as well."

She wraps her arms around my neck and holds me to her, as if she can somehow protect me from a full week of Judy Fabray, and Frannie and her husband, Doug Engelbrecht. Despite her motives, the hug definitely helps, and I feel a little more grounded when she pulls away and studies my face. "I just wish it wasn't so far away," she says. "At least, if they were coming here, you could escape to my house if it becomes too much. Where do you even go in Sacramento?"

"We'll have to do research," I say cutely, and she swats my arm.

"Why are you so _okay_ with this?" she asks. "I don't know if you know this, Fabray, but you and I haven't been apart for more than two days since this whole thing started."

My gaze meets hers. "Rachel Berry?"

"Hmm?"

"It's okay to say you're going to miss me," I tease her. "Because I'm going to miss you too," I whisper.

She reaches up and kisses my cheek. She doesn't say anything, and I prefer it that way. We don't bring it up as the day goes on. Glee passes with little incident, which is a relief. Kurt and Blaine sing a lovely duet of _Baby, It's Cold Outside_ , which has me grinning uncontrollably. Rachel reaches for my hand and interlaces our fingers. I like the fact that my hesitance for _more_ hasn't stopped her from reaching out for me. We're almost to our new normal now, and I can feel myself giving in to _everything_.

For the first time in a while, Rachel doesn't offer to sing. "Don't tell me you didn't prepare something," I whisper to her.

"I'm not feeling very Christmassy," she admits, giving me a significant look that makes me swallow audibly. She _clearly_ doesn't like the idea of my going with my mother to Sacramento. I've accepted it, and she's going to have to.

When Mr Schuester finally dismisses us, wishing us 'Merry Christmas,' and then sending us on our way, Rachel and I leave together. We have a plan. We're going to her house first, I'll change, and then we'll take her car to the mall, so we can do our Christmas shopping. I already ordered Rachel's present online, and paid the extra fee for it to arrive _on_ Christmas Day. As far as she knows, I'm adhering to her Hanukkah wishes and getting her nothing, even though my gift could count as one of her eight gifts. I'm allowed to be nice now, because we're - we're whatever we are.

As terrifying and uncertain as it all is, one look at Rachel Berry and it's definitely worth it.

* * *

"How exhausted are you?"

I open one eye and peek at Santana, who's standing over me with her hands on her hips. I'm lying on my back on a blue mat after a gruelling practice. My one leg is bent at the knee, with the other one crossed over, with my arms spread out above me as I try to catch my breath. "I feel like I'm dying."

"Nobody told you to get sideswiped by a fucking locker," she says, dropping down next to my head and crossing her legs Indian style. "We both knew Coach was going to have something to say about your shiner, and of course it _had_ to manifest in a hundred billion suicides."

I laugh breathily. "Do I still look badass?"

"You've never looked badass."

I roll my eyes before I close them and sigh. "Where's Britt?" I ask.

"Helping Adrienne," she says. "I'm not good with tears, as you know."

"I know."

She pinches my bicep. "How are you feeling about tomorrow?"

I open my eyes and look at her. "I feel as if everyone else is more worried than I am."

She raises her eyebrows. " _Everyone_?"

I know I'm blushing, but I don't look away. "I feel... happy, Santana."

"Imagine how you could feel when you finally get your shit together and kiss the girl," she says, smiling slightly.

"I'm working on it," I say, sitting up and mirroring her position. "I know I want this. I just - I guess I'm just scared."

"Of what?"

"Everything," I breathe.

Santana's features soften. "Whatever you're worried about, Q, I think you should just talk to her about it. Because you know as well as I do how much the midget loves to talk."

I just shake my head, smiling faintly. "I haven't said thank you," I say. "For all your help since... Finn. For being understanding about Rachel, and for giving me another home when the house I live in starts to overwhelm me with its emptiness."

"Whoa whoa, Fabray," she says, holding her hands up. "I'm not fucking ready for all your emotional shit. Stop that right now."

I laugh because Santana Lopez is my favourite person right now. I lift myself up and crawl towards her.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Don't come at me like that! Don't you dare fucking hug me! Q! Q! You're all sweaty and nasty, and don't you touch me, Quinn Fabray!"

I ignore her as I wrap my arms around her. She falls over and I collapse on her, even as she fights me. "I love you, Santana," I say. "Accept my love. Accept it!"

"Never," she fights, but she's giggling, _laughing_.

I kiss her cheek and she squirms. "Say it back," I sing. "You know you want to!"

She's laughing so hard, and I'm laughing too, and I feel light and happy and _good_. And then heavy. I groan, and Santana sucks in a breath.

"Britt!" Santana huffs, clearly winded by the both of us lying on top of her. "Get off! I can't breathe!"

"Say it, San," Brittany says, laughing as well.

"No!"

"Say it," I sing. "Say what you want to say!"

"Okay, okay," she finally gives in, squirming beneath us. "Okay! I love you too! I love you too!"

I grin madly, kissing her one cheek, and Brittany kisses the other. When we roll off her and she breathes out, I feel as if my life is filling up with so much _good_ for the first time in my life. I don't even feel anxious about how I've performed in my exams or about the fact that I'll be seeing Frannie for the first time in practically a year.

Santana pokes me in the ribs and laughs when I squeal. "Gosh, I hate you both," she murmurs, but her happy smile gives her away.


	12. twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _be easy.  
_ _take your time.  
_ _you are coming home.  
_ _to yourself._

 _._

"I don't like it."

My Daddy glances over his shoulder at me, a sympathetic smile on his face. "I don't like it, either, Sweetheart, but it's what's happening and we're going to have to come to accept it somehow. Quinn is in Sacramento and there's nothing any of us can do about it."

I huff, sinking further into the backseat of the car as we continue on our way to Columbus to see Aunt Marianne for a Christmas Eve lunch. Quinn left yesterday and, even though I probably wouldn't be with her right now anyway, I can still feel her absence and it's put me in a foul mood. She's good with responding to texts, so that helps, but I miss her quite terribly.

I look at my phone when it buzzes in my hand.

 _Quinn: So. Guess who just schooled another family at Scrabble? I am the champion of the world!_

I chuckle to myself, absently glancing out the window as the world passes by. I feel stuck in this moment; one where I'm with Quinn but I'm not. Somehow, it feels more profound that we're existing together, but in completely different states. I'm smiling when I reply.

 **Berry: And to think I didn't think you knew how to gloat. But, I suppose congratulations are in order, my Scrabble Stud! :P**

 _Quinn: I'm not sure how I feel about the word 'Stud' :O_

 **Berry: Even if I call you a beautiful stud?**

 _Quinn: I'm pretty sure that's an oxymoron._

 **Berry: Well, okay, Miss Four-Point-Oh GPA, we're on HOLIDAY ;) I left my brain at school.**

 _Quinn: What brain?_

I gasp, and my Dad looks at me through the rearview mirror. I roll my eyes and say, "Quinn." He seems to understand though, which just makes me smile.

 **Berry: I'm going to ignore that because I miss you. Otherwise, how are things?**

 _Quinn: They're not really talking to me all that much, which doesn't really bother me. I've got my Kindle and my books, and I have to prepare for when I get back with Flo. I also have choreography to work on, and I have this super amazing and talented best friend whom I have to impress with my singing chops when I get back._

I swallow, unsure how I feel about the fact her family is essentially ignoring her. She won't tell me explicitly, but I know better. I've learned to read between the lines when it comes to Quinn Fabray.

 _Quinn: Also, I'm thinking of getting a tattoo._

My mouth drops open. Wait. What?

 **Berry: Quinn? Are you serious?**

 _Quinn: As a heart attack._

 **Berry: Why? Do you know where (on your body and possible registered and clean parlours)? Do you know what you want to get?**

 _Quinn: I have this feeling. A kind of happiness I've never felt before. I've been thinking about it for a while, but it's never truly fit with the Fabray image; the image that's been stamped on me from long before the divorce. For the first time in my life, I'm enjoying it. I feel free, and I feel brave enough to do it._

I blink. She's said so much in that one text that I want to fly straight through the phone and wrap her in a hug.

 _Quinn: Do you hate the idea?_

 **Berry: No!**

 **Berry: Sorry, I'm just processing.**

 _Quinn: It's okay if you're against it, Rachel. I want to know what you're really thinking._

I take a breath to gather my thoughts. What do I really think about the idea of my perfect Quinn marking her perfect body, permanently? It takes me a while to compose my message.

 **Berry: As much as I love that you value my opinion, this decision is entirely yours. Having said that, it's not that I'm against the idea. I just worry about its permanence, and about the kind of commitment it requires to choose something to have on your body forever. I think about your future, if the tattoo might affect job opportunities or make it difficult for you to be seen a certain way. I realise you've thought about this a lot, and I won't attempt to sway your decision any which way. I want you to be happy, Quinn. If this is what you want, I fully support you.**

I have to physically restrain myself from telling her I love her. I'm not sure in which capacity I would be saying it, so I stop myself. It shouldn't be said via text anyway. I wait the longest time for a reply, even dozing off as the car rumbles on towards our destination.

 _Quinn: Your opinion is one of the only ones that matters to me, and I appreciate your honesty. Thank you._

 _Quinn: I'll keep you posted on what I decide._

We revert back to talking about simpler things. She keeps me occupied until we pull up to the nursing home, and I shoot off a quick text, letting her know I'll message her later. I pocket my phone and climb out of the car behind my dads. We've brought presents and a casserole for Aunt Marianne. She misses home-cooked food, and we're always more than willing to oblige. It _is_ non-vegan, though.

Even though she's getting old, Aunt Marianne _tries_ to jump up when she sees us. It doesn't matter that she has bad knees and a bad heart. She once sat me down and explained all her health problems - the woman takes about a billion different pills - which was the moment I realised that this amazing woman probably isn't going to live forever.

We meet her in the Games' Room, and move into a corner where we laugh and joke and tease and cry. It's lost on none of us that this is probably our last Christmas together. She asks me questions about school and Glee and about Quinn. I blush immediately, which makes her reach for my hand.

"Is she your girlfriend _now_?" she asks.

I duck my head. "I'm working on it."

"Please do," she says. "I really want to meet her. She sounds like a lovely young lady." Her words start my dads on and on about Quinn until I'm missing her something fierce, and I'm forced to excuse myself to the bathroom to text my favourite blonde. I love that my dads adore her so much, because they've always been wary of my past romantic entanglements. I mean, _Jesse_.

 **Berry: My Aunt Marianne hasn't even met you, but she already loves you. My dads are literally gushing about you as I text you.**

Her reply is instant.

 _Quinn: I hope good things. Give her my regards, will you? :)_

 **Berry: I will :) Only good things - is there anything else?**

 _Quinn: I know you're busy with your family and this isn't the right time, but I always wonder what you see when you look at me. I haven't always been good to you, Rachel, and I always worry that you forget that._

I take a breath. I'm not surprised she's brought it up because I've sometimes got the feeling she worries about this most of all. Especially after my blowup after the song she sang for my birthday. I really wish I could go back to that day and slap myself silly before I even started to attack her insecurities about our friendship.

 **Berry: Don't take this the wrong way, Quinn, but I am under no illusions you're perfect. I'm not either. We're both works in progress and that takes time. I haven't forgotten. There are things you do that remind me of that time but I recognise your efforts to be better. I think the happier you are, the less you use your past to keep you from it. Does that make sense?**

 _Quinn: What are you talking about? I'm perfect! Just kidding._

 _Quinn: I don't want you to forget. I need you to hold me accountable, because I never want to go back to a point in my life when I hurt people - especially you - for sport. I don't want to be so out of touch with myself again. I want to stay better, and I'm going to need you, so please don't forget. And, yes, it makes sense. I've been thinking about it a lot. I've spent too much time dwelling on my past mistakes to allow myself to BE happy, but I'm getting there. I'm almost ready for it._

 _Quinn: I'm almost ready for you._

And now I've died and gone to heaven. Just what is this girl trying to do to me?

 _Quinn: Still there?_

 **Berry: I need a minute. I died a little.**

 _Quinn: Sorry._

 **Berry: Can I call you when I get home and we can talk?**

 _Quinn: Sure. Enjoy your day and drive safely. X_

I can barely focus on anything else as I return to my dads and Aunt Marianne. Quinn is almost ready. Does she have any idea what that means? Does she understand? We're definitely going to have to have a long talk about this to make sure we're both on the same page about what _more_ entails. Because, frankly, not even I know.

After we have lunch, the nursing home invites us to play a game with them, which just makes me fall even more in love with old people. We each get given a foam baton and are told to find a seat at the long conference table. Well, my dads sit out but Aunt Marianne drags me with her and we settle in chairs right next to each other.

"What's going on?" I ask.

She just shushes me.

One of the nurses comes into the conference room with three blow-up balloons, and I frown. What on earth is happening right now? I just listen as the nurse explains the rules, which is basically just 'keep the balloons over the table with the foam batons.' It sounds ridiculous at first but then we get started and... old people are _so_ competitive. It's good fun though, and Aunt Marianne is kind of a beast with that foam baton. I didn't realise how much aggression she was holding inside. I'm vaguely aware of my Dad filming the carnage but I'm a little too lost in the fun to care.

Though, I _do_ care when I learn he sent the video to Quinn when we're on the way home. And, really, my blonde friend is relentless, which is why I'm ignoring her.

 _Quinn: Easy there, superstar. Don't want to strain a muscle._

 _Quinn: The red balloon. It's coming for you._

 _Quinn: That guy in the red sweater vest looked like real competition. Good thing you took him out._

 _Quinn: Wow. You really know how to work that foam baton. How does a person get in on that action?_

It goes on and on the entire trip home, and I can't even stay mad at my Dad. Or Quinn, for that matter, because I burst out laughing more often than not. She merely cements her position as my favourite person (who isn't family) in the world. Objectively and rationally, I acknowledge how crazy all of this is. It's barely been a week since I freaked out about liking her, and now I'm convinced there is nobody else for me.

Believe me, it's as crazy as it sounds.

I've had two relationships in my high school career - not that I think I'm in a relationship with Quinn right now - and neither ended well. First, well, _officially_ , there was Jesse, who wasn't who he claimed to be. It's fine. The years past have softened the blow of his deception, and my occasional call from Shelby isn't the worst thing in the world. I still get a little angry thinking about the eggs, but I've been able to acknowledge the pressures of show choir and of high school. He's been forgiven, but definitely not forgotten. He can be a real asshole sometimes, and he's _tried_ to get back together with me several times. I considered it once, but then _no_. It didn't help my case when I took him to prom my junior year.

And then there was Noah Puckerman. Obviously, _that_ was ill-timed and ill-fated. It came about just after Finn and Quinn broke up the first time, and then got back together a day later. Honestly, and after extensive soul-searching, I can't find a true explanation for the way I went off the rails the way I did. True, it lasted only a week. I let him kiss me, even horizontal, but he lost interest when he realised he wasn't going to get further than touching my breasts. High school boys have short attention spans, apparently.

Since then, it's been casual dates. Single dates, really. Only once did it become two, but then he proved to be a douchebag, and I threw my water in his face. As a person who's convinced I wear my heart on my sleeve, I do keep my cards close to my chest, waiting and watching for when my one true love is going to enter my life.

I never imagined she would come in bawling her eyes out over someone else.

Okay, so I've known Quinn for a while. Since we were freshmen. Though, I wouldn't go as far as to say I _knew_ her back then. Quinn was, for all intents and purposes, a supreme bitch back then. I recognise the pressure she placed on herself trying to fit into the mould she believed was required to survive and make her parents happy. I also recognise the way that person she was has grown into this person whose very name just lighting up on my phone threatens to send me into full cardiac arrest. Which is why this is all a _very big deal_.

It's quite late when we get home, and my fingers are itching. I haven't texted Quinn back. I _told_ her I would call, and that's what I'm going to do. We have things to talk about and I know, if I start texting her back, I'll probably lose my thunder. So, I go about the evening trying to formulate the words I'm going to say to Quinn. When I do finally call it a night, I've come up with nothing.

Still, I just want to hear her voice.

"Hello?" she says after three rings, and I automatically smile. It's always a different kind of experience talking to Quinn on the phone. Being in her presence can be overwhelming, and I like the idea that Quinn sounds like a completely normal person on the phone - with a melodic, almost velvet voice, and a gentle, heart-stopping laugh. So, _completely normal_.

"Hey, you," I return, breathing out.

"Did you get home all right?"

"We did," I assure her. "I'm just crawling into my bed, which is cold and empty without you."

"Use your imagination."

I sigh, just thinking about the slight smirk on her face. Smile number two, I think. "What are you doing?"

"We just had dinner, so I'm now reading in the den," she says. "Did you know there are actual ways not to bring up your kid sister's baby that was given up for adoption, and my sister doesn't know any of them?"

"Oh, no," I say. "What did she do?"

"Blatantly asked about Beth."

"Why would she do that?"

"Apparently, she and her husband, Doug, are thinking of starting a family."

"Oh."

She hums.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

I wait patiently.

"Okay, so I'm not fine," she finally says. "It gets to me during the holiday season mostly, and around her birthday. I always ask myself if I did the right thing. Finn usually assures me that we made the best decision for her and for us, but - " she stops. "It's hard, sometimes."

I take a breath. "I know you don't actually _need_ reassurance, Quinn. Deep in your heart, you know you did what was best, and you don't need to hear the words from anyone other than yourself. The decision you made will forever be a profound one and, of course, you're going to question it every chance you get, but you know your own truth far better than Finn or I ever could."

She's quiet for a long moment, and all I hear is her steady breathing. "Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you," she says. "I shudder to think what I'd do without in my life."

I close my eyes and enjoy the way those words make me feel. "So, you said a few things," I start.

"I said a lot of things - you'll have to be more specific."

"Quinn?"

"Are we talking about the tattoo?" she asks, and she sounds genuinely curious.

"No, we're talking about the fact that you believe you're almost ready," I say pointedly, and her breath hitches. Seriously, did she really think I'd want to discuss _anything else_ when that topic was now on the table?

"Oh." Then: "Should I start?"

"Please."

"I should warn you now, Rachel, that I'm scheduled for a complete freakout," she says, and she sounds _very_ calm. "As much as I want this, and I do, I _know_ there's a part of me that's going to try to sabotage it. It's just who I am and I'm powerless to stop it. So, when it happens, I may say and do things that contradict everything I _want_ to say and do, but I assure you I will come to my senses. I'll run, Rachel, but I'll come back. You're a girl you come back for."

I don't even know what to say to that.

"I'm apologising beforehand, and asking you to be patient with me."

When she's silent for a beat too long, I realise she expects me to respond. "I'll try," I say.

"That's all I can ask for," she says. "Now, what I really want to say while I'm thinking clearly and not panicking at the last hurdle of my readiness is that you are very important to me, Rachel. Your friendship is important, and it's the most important part here, regardless of what happens. I want this to work, but I'm under no illusions it's going to be easy. I'm a difficult person to deal with already and, as you might know, I tend to lose myself a little in relationships, but I want this. It's what my heart wants, and I have to get my head to catch up."

She's saying everything and nothing at the same time.

"I want to be able to go out on a date with you," she says, and I gasp softly. "I want to be able to hold your hand whenever I want to; to be able to look at you unabashedly because I'm allowed to, and you're just so beautiful, really. I want to be able to touch you, kiss you, hold you, breathe you in."

And now _I've_ forgotten how to breathe.

"These are all things I want, and I'm asking you if you would want them too?" A pause. "When I'm ready?"

"Yes," I breathe.

"Yes?"

"I want all of it too, Quinn. _This_ , and you."

She lets out a sigh of relief. "I want to say you won't regret it, but you probably will at some point."

I laugh out loud. "I try to live a life without regrets, Fabray."

"And how is that working out for you?"

"Well, it's this close to getting me you, so I think it's working out quite well," I tell her, and am met with such a long silence, I think the call has dropped. "Quinn?"

"I'm here," she rushes. "Just died a little."

I yawn.

"Long day, huh?"

"Mmhmm."

She breathes out. "You should probably get some sleep."

I hum in acknowledgement as I reach out to switch off my lampshade and roll over onto my side to stare at the empty side of my bed: Quinn's side. "Will you stay on the line?" I whisper.

"As if you even have to ask."

* * *

As far are Christmases go, this one is very low-key. Even though my Daddy was raised in a Christian home - he and Quinn have had a few conversations about it - he doesn't actively practice anymore. That said, he doesn't truly practice Judaism either. He does, however, enjoy his gospel music, which is definitely understandable. Gospel music has the potential to be amazing when done well. I once went with Mercedes to her church, and their choir knocked my socks right off. I think it's the emotion of the music that truly makes it special.

So, truly, it's a normal Sunday. I imagine Quinn is at church. She mentioned something about Midnight Mass, which I'll admit I found a little horrifying, but hey. My (future) girl is religious and I'm going to respect that. So, it's a normal day until it isn't. When the doorbell rings, my dads exchange a look. We're not expecting anyone.

My Daddy is the one to get the door, and he returns to the living room with a rather large cardboard box... for me. I don't know why but I immediately know it's from Quinn and I bristle slightly. The last present she gave me resulted in the almost-end of our friendship.

"Are you going to open it?" my Daddy asks me and, admittedly, I'm tempted not to. I want Quinn to be here. I want her sitting right next to me.

My Dad grins widely at me, scooting forward on the couch so he has a better view. "Oh, please do. I want to see."

My phone is upstairs, which is a good thing because the temptation to talk to her is already too much. When I shift towards the box on the coffee table, my Daddy hands me his keys so I can cut the sellotape. I feel jittery, for some reason. Quinn planned this, and I feel myself falling deeper and deeper. I'm practically sinking, powerless to stop it. I make quick work of the tape, only to reveal another box. There's a small note attached to it. It's printed.

 _Rachel Berry,_

 _Even though it IS Christmas today, HAPPY HANUKKAH!  
_ _And, seeing as my previous present turned into such a disaster, I thought I'd try again.  
_ _I blatantly ignored your rules. I bought this with my hard-earned money (from the allowance Russell is required to give me.)  
_ _I hope you like it almost as much as I like you.  
_ _I miss you._

 _\- Q_

Okay, so, maybe I swoon a little. A lot. I clutch the note to my chest and close my eyes. I'll admit I'm not looking forward to Quinn's predicted freakout, but I'm definitely eager for the _after_. If this is anything to go by, Quinn will be good at this part.

"What is it?" my Dad asks.

At the sound of that, I open the second box to reveal a third one. Only, it's clear to see exactly what this third one is, and I gasp at the sight. It's a vinyl record player. A top of the line vinyl record player, and it practically blinds me. I blink, unsure if I'm seeing correctly.

My Daddy peers in the box, and then lets out a long, appreciative whistle.

I pull out the box and, below it, I find a pile of records. _Sweet Jesus_. I don't even know what to say right now, and I'm frozen in place as I eye the soundtracks to various broadway musicals. I almost burst out crying when my fingers find the original cast performance of _Wicked_. Okay.

Okay.

I'm okay. Everything is okay.

I sit back slowly, trying to keep a handle on my emotions. "Dads," I say calmly, letting out a breath in the process. I will not pass out. "I believe it is highly probable that I am, in fact, in love with Quinn Fabray."

* * *

When I spot Quinn, I practically fling myself at her, wrapping my arms around her neck and squeezing her tight. I have this almost unstoppable urge to _kiss_ her but I just manage to reign it in and bury my face in her wonderfully-smelling neck and just breathe her in. I feel her arms wrap around my waist. I'm so glad she's back, and I'm unafraid to tell her. She's smiling widely when she releases me, and I get a lingering kiss to my cheek that makes me flush immediately.

"I'm glad I'm back too," she says.

I drag her up to my bedroom and hug her again. Of course, I've gushed and cried over the present over the phone, but she's here now and she's going to listen to me. Which she does. She lies on my bed, fingers casually threaded behind her head as she watches me with an amused smile on her face. She's tracking my movements with her eyes and I'm heating up as I speak. When I'm done with my rant, I go into my closet to fetch her present.

"It's nothing as special as yours," I tell her as I pad towards where she's now sitting up on my bed.

"It's from you," she says; "it's special enough."

I sit down next to her, much closer than normal. "Merry Christmas, Quinn Fabray," I whisper.

She takes the present from me, her gaze on mine. "Thank you, Rachel Berry."

I wait patiently as she peels away the wrapper and reveals the plaque. I watch the moment her eyes take it all in and widen. The plaque consists of two things: a framed print of our mutual favourite picture from our first night in her kitchen, and a best friend contract. She glances at me for a moment before her gaze drops again, to read.

.

 _ **REALISTIC BEST FRIEND CONTRACT**_

 _1\. I promise we will make crazy, fun, stupid, potentially dangerous and wonderful memories together._

 _2\. I promise not only to KNOW all your best stories, but to be there to LIVE them with you._

 _3\. I promise to laugh through all my days with you - and AT you._

 _4\. I promise that if you'll do it, I will too._

 _5\. I promise to pretend not to know you, only sometimes, particularly when you get all crazy._

 _6\. I promise to sing a duet with you at least once a month. (Fine, it can be behind closed doors.)_

 _7\. I promise to help you hide the body if - when - you do commit murder. (It's only a matter of time, let's be serious.)_

 _8\. I promise to take care of you when you're sad, injured or feeling lonely._

 _9\. I promise to feed you when the foodie in you comes out to play._

 _10\. I promise not to make you rap for Glee ever again._

 _11\. I promise to give you a hug whenever you want one._

 _12\. I promise to have discussions about Harry Potter, DAILY._

 _13\. I promise to tell you the truth, always._

 _14\. I promise, no matter what happens, we will always be best friends._

 _I hereby agree to these conditions._

 _Rachel Berry: ..._... | Quinn Fabray: ..._..._

.

I take a breath when it's obvious she's reached the end. "Do you like it?" I ask stupidly, nervously.

She looks at me for a beat before she grabs hold of the front of my sweater and pulls me onto - into - her. I collapse on her, probably winding her. "I love it," she murmurs.

"We have to sign it," I tell her, sounding breathless. We're pressed together in so many places and it's making me feel a little dizzy. I don't even know where to put my hands.

"And we will," she says; "but I have to tell you something first. Because we tell the truth and all that."

I swallow. "What is it?"

Her gaze meet mine. "I got the tattoo."

I think I react the right way. I mean, I _do_ gasp, and then I scramble back as if I can figure out where the tattoo is just by looking at her. "Where is it? Can I see? What is it?"

She raises an eyebrow, and then smiles mischievously. That's number eight. "I could _tell_ you," she says coyly, and my heart is about to pump right out of my chest. "But, really, you wait a little while and I'll _show_ you."

Good _God_.

* * *

Quinn and I spend practically every day of the rest of the Break together. _All day_. She stays over some nights - not all - and I'm finally able to witness a proper Quinn Fabray sleep-in. She's always been an early-riser, so the first day she stays asleep past eleven o'clock is kind of a big deal for me. She's so cute when she sleeps, all childlike and innocent. She also looks perfect in slumber, which isn't fair at all. It would help if she drooled or something equally drastic, but _no_.

When she visits Santana and Brittany; I see Kurt, and Mercedes and Tina. We exchange gifts and family horror stories. They, thankfully, don't ask me much about Quinn and I try my best not to talk about her as much as I desperately want to. I _want_ to gush but I don't want people to get the wrong idea about us... when it would be the _right_ idea. Nobody is ready for that. Not even me.

Quinn seems present, yes, but I can tell she's different. It's her mother; her _family_ , and I don't know how to approach the topic without her closing up. I _know_ it's bothering her because I can smell the alcohol and cigarette smoke on her breath whenever she gets back from Santana's house. She hasn't asked me the question again about whether her mother loves her, and I still don't have an answer to that.

There's one night she gets back, her eyes unfocused and bleary, that I take her up to my room, wrap her in my arms and let her cry. I don't even know how _she_ knows this is the moment to let go and let me into this part of her life she's trying to hide, but she does.

"I think we have to add an amendment to our best friend contract," I whisper into her hair, my hands sliding over her back. "Number fifteen: I promise not to hide anything from you."

She says nothing.

"Quinn?"

Her face is buried in the crook of my neck and she breathes out. "I'm terrified of sharks," she says.

I frown. "Oh?"

"I've never seen one in real life, but I'm so scared of them."

I'm so confused.

"When I was little, I had this truly irrational fear that they were living in the deep end of our pool. I never liked to swim because of it, but my sister used to coax me into the water with her, assuring me that I would be safe. She used to tell me she would protect me from them; she would fight them off because she was my big sister and that's what big sisters do."

I don't know what to say, but _oh_.

"I can't imagine Frannie doing anything that would make me disown her the way she's done with me," she says against me skin, and I squirm. "She's so much of Russell's daughter, and I don't know how we're ever supposed to recover. Fuck, Rachel, I don't even know if I _want_ to fix our relationship."

I kiss her hair repeatedly, trying and failing to make her feel better. Quinn just holds onto me, and I vow to say and do what I can to get her through this - whatever _this_ is.

* * *

In all intents and purposes, Quinn recovers from her breakdown rather quickly. The next morning, she's as good as new: present and guarded in a way. She has breakfast with me and my dads, and then she goes home. We're supposed to be going to Puck's New Year's Eve party tonight and I just think she wants to spend some time alone. I give it to her; the space and the silence. It's hard because all I want to do is go to her and just hold her.

Quinn's text arrives after lunch. I imagine she's had a nap and a shower, and possibly something to eat. When my phone buzzes and I spy her name, I excuse myself and go up to my bedroom to _deal with this_. I put on some music, lie down on my bed and give Quinn my undivided attention.

 _Quinn: I'm sorry about last night, Rachel. It won't happen again._

I sigh. I don't know if I would consider this part of her impending freakout because it doesn't have all that much to do with me. Regardless, she is _still_ my best friend, and I vowed to help, whatever she needs.

 **Berry: What won't happen again, Quinn?**

 _Quinn: I don't know. All of it._

 _Quinn: Aren't you just tired of having to deal with my fucked up life?_

 _Quinn: Because I am._

My thumbs hover over my keypad.

 **Berry: I'm your best friend. It comes with the territory. I'll carry the burden if you need to take a breather.**

 _Quinn: STOP BEING SO DAMN NICE!_

 _Quinn: I don't know what I'm supposed to do! How do I make it better? I don't want to feel so fucking lost and confused anymore._

Tears spring to my eyes and I can just imagine her sitting alone in her house, going through all of this and thinking she's undeserving of the care my family gives her. It amazes me that her own flesh and blood can't recognise how stupidly amazing she is.

 **Berry: I don't know how else to be, Quinn. 'Nice' is my default setting, so please don't yell at me. I'm just trying to help. Let me help.**

 _Quinn: I'm sorry. You're right. I'm so sorry._

My heart is aching.

 **Berry: Can I come to you? I want to see you. I want to hold you.**

The wait is torturous. And then -

 _Quinn: Door's open._

I fly up so quickly, I almost trip over myself. I rush to my closet, throw on some decent clothes, grab my keys and purse and then practically sprint out of the house, shouting something over my shoulder to my dads. I'm in my car before I know it, and on my way to the Fabray house with one thing on my mind: seeing Quinn.

As she said, the door is open and I go straight up to her bedroom. I don't bother to knock as I push open the door to find Quinn sitting on the floor, her back pressed against her bookshelf. Her head is tilted back, eyes closed and cheeks wet. Her knees are bent upwards, her arms resting on them and her phone in one hand. It's a heartbreaking sight and I rush to kneel in front of her. Well, I spread her legs a little and shift closer, my hands on her thighs.

I love you.

I want to tell her, but I can't. Not today. Not like this.

When Quinn opens her eyes, they're bloodshot and heavy with the pain she's holding deep inside. "You're here," she whispers.

"I'll always be here, Quinn," I assure her.

"I'm a mess."

"You're a beautiful mess," I tell her. "And you're _mine_."

* * *

After a quick nap, Quinn starts to get ready while I search through her closet for clothes for her - maybe me too - to wear. It's cold out, so I pick out the tightest jeans I've ever seen. They're dark and just the sight of them makes my breathing hitch. I heat up quite quickly and have to go downstairs to get some iced water. Her house is supposed to be empty, so I practically yelp when I encounter Quinn's mother on the landing. I suspect she can hear Quinn's shower running, and see my flushed appearance. Well.

"Rachel," she says.

"Evening, Mrs Fabray," I say.

And then she's gone, headed down the passage, and disappears into a room. I don't know what she's thinking right now, but I'm too exhausted to worry about that. Quinn and I have a party to attend, and I just want her to have a good night. I want her to enjoy herself; to _forget_. And, for the time being, _I_ can't do that for her.

When Quinn is ready and looking, well, dangerous; we go to my house so _I_ can get ready. My Daddy lets out a wolf whistle at the sight of her, and my Dad hits him over the head. _Inappropriate, LeRoy_. Quinn blushes, but, really, she looks so amazing, it's not even fair. Is it always going to be like this?

Probably. Definitely.

Quinn spends some time downloading new music for me while I shower and get dressed. I can feel her eyes on me from time to time but she says nothing. She helps me with my makeup. It's smoky, which somehow matches her understated colours. I don't know how and I don't know why, but I get the feeling it's done on purpose. Because, she might be mine, and I'm definitely hers.

I think I've belonged to her since I discovered her on my sidewalk. I haven't belonged to myself since.

When we get to the party - she's unafraid for us to arrive together - Quinn's forced smile slips onto her face as she does the rounds. I find Kurt and Mercedes and try not to freak out whenever I lose sight of my blonde. We chat and we drink and we dance, and I forget as much as I think I can.

Quinn is moving from room to room, smiling and laughing. Her smile has morphed into something more genuine, which is a relief, and I'm not the only one who's watching and taking note. She laughs freely with Santana and constantly hugs Brittany. She's lighter somehow, and it's different to how people normally see her. It makes me fall in love with her just that little bit more.

And then, well, there's Finn, who keeps looking at Quinn with such sad, somewhat surprised eyes that it's even starting to irritate _me_. I have a high threshold for these things but apparently spending all this time with the Unholy Trinity has made me less patient when it comes to people and the things they do. I suppose the good thing is that, if Quinn notices, she doesn't show it. She's just here to hang out with her friends, drink a little, play party games and... constantly glance my way and make me heat up. It's actually quite rude of her.

She's almost ready. She's almost ready. She's almost ready.

It's honestly all I can think about.

So, really, contending with Finn is fine. But, the thing is that Quinn Fabray is on the market and nearly every boy is looking, fishing, and hoping to hook the gorgeous Head Cheerleader. To her credit, she's aloof at best, barely giving any of them the time of day. Santana is having a field day watching Quinn rebuff every approach. It seems the boys are braver tonight - perhaps because they believe enough time has passed since the breakup or the alcohol consumed has given them liquid courage. And still, Finn watches. It's surprising any other boys even decide to approach her when Finn's eyes are on them the entire time.

At some point, Quinn comes over to me and sits down on the armrest just to my left. She hands me a drink, which I take from her without hesitation and take a tentative sip. It tastes a little sweet, and I tell her. She leans in nice and close and I can smell that same sweetness in her breath. "Don't you like it?" she asks huskily, and I squirm in my seat. Does she know? Does she know just what she's doing to me?

I don't even know what to respond to her, as distracted as I am by how close her lips are to mine. "I like _you_ ," I finally manage to say.

She tips forward and her lips brush against the shell of my ear. "I want you."

I shiver. This is going to be a long night.

She pulls back with a grin and I almost lose the battle and kiss her. I don't, though. Not here. Not like this. Maybe she notices because her eyes flick down to my lips for a moment. I recognise the motion and I realise, belatedly, that Quinn's wanted to kiss me for a lot longer than I've _known_ I wanted to kiss her. My mouth drops open in surprise, and I'm about say something when a sudden voice startles us both.

"Q!" Santana shouts, and all eyes turn to her. "We're taking on Mike and Artie next round. The fuckers are going down!"

Quinn just smiles at me as she slips off the armrest and stands. "See you at midnight?" she asks.

I nod.

"Are you ready?" she asks.

"Are you?"

Her eyes glaze over for a moment. "I don't know." And then she walks away.

I _need_ her to be ready before any of this starts. She has to be _sure_ before my lips go anywhere near hers, because there's no going back from that. Once it happens, it happens, and we'll have to deal with it.

Which is why, when midnight does roll around, I stay in the kitchen and watch the fireworks go off through the wide window. I can see Quinn standing outside, boys hovering around her as if they expect her to turn, grab for one of them and kiss them senseless. She doesn't. Instead, she's sandwiched between Santana and Brittany. They each kiss Quinn's cheek at midnight, before they kiss each other.

Quinn glances over her shoulder at me, as if she knows exactly where I've been the entire time. She winks at me.

I die a little, raise my cup in greeting, and wink back.

Welcome to the new year, people.


	13. thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _in our own ways we all break.  
_ _it is okay to hold your heart outside of your body for days.  
_ _months._ _years._ _at a time._

 _._

When I was little, my favourite hymn was _Amazing Grace_. There was just something so _spirited_ about it; the kind of song in which you can lose yourself. At church, people used to get really into it, _feeling_ it, and it always fascinated me how a song could make a person feel so much life and emotion and love. It helped me believe; helped me keep my faith.

Which I lost for a little while. In my anger, I lost my way. Anger at myself for getting pregnant at fifteen. Anger at Finn for getting me pregnant at fifteen. Anger at my parents for kicking me out of my house. Anger at my sister for agreeing with my parents. And anger at the growing child inside of me.

It's the one thing I'm most ashamed of. This poor, innocent life that my body is supposed to protect, and I hated it so much. I hated _her_. In the beginning, sometimes during, and then again at the end. Because, by the time the end did come, I loved her so much that giving her away nearly _broke_ me. Finn was there. He was there for all of it, holding me and loving me despite my loss of faith; my loss of myself.

And then I built myself up again, both inside and out. It was hard work, losing the baby fat and reclaiming my spot at the top of the Cheerios' pyramid. It was even harder coming to terms with my feelings towards Beth, towards her adoptive parents in Cleveland, and towards myself. Where Finn fit into all of that, I didn't yet know. It took me months to come to terms with my decision in a spiritual way. My Reverend assured me that accepting my decision to put Beth's love, life and happiness above my own is one of the truest signs of a return of faith.

My return to church was monumental for me, and for others, I suppose. Churchgoers can be catty. Housewives who just have too much time on their hands. They shunned me, along with my parents, for giving birth to a beautiful baby girl when they've probably hidden far worse secrets behind their closed doors. It took me three weeks after my return to realise that _Amazing Grace_ was no longer my favourite hymn.

Today, it's _How Great Thou Art_. I think it's more to do with the musicality of it. There's a version of it sung by Carrie Underwood that stills my soul and makes me hope and believe. It's the calmness of what's inside of me that allows me to ignore the looks as I sit in my pew and listen and absorb. It's that same settled emotion that allows me to ignore the whispers that haven't subsided in all this time.

It's also this same calm that makes me terrified of what happens if and when all these supposed God-fearing people learn that the last person I think about when I go to bed at night is Rachel Berry. That I imagine what it feels like to hold her hand as we walk down the streets. That I think about being able to kiss her and touch her and love her. That I want nothing more than to make her as happy as she makes me without even trying.

I think about these things and, of course, I worry about them. The Fabray in me won't allow me not to at least _think_ about appearances. I'm tempted to wait. I _want_ to wait; to hide and pretend this isn't happening. We can leave Lima, Rachel and I. We can go somewhere far away from this place, where people don't know us and won't judge us. But I'm impatient. So. Very. Impatient.

I want her. I want everything about her, and I'm terrified of it. I've been in a position similar to this one... with Finn. I can feel myself losing myself in Rachel. I can feel all my walls as they crumble and allow her to see what's behind them. I feel it all and it's terrifying. _She_ terrifies me.

The new year brings with it a certain clarity. Rachel is so patient with me, which makes me feel even guiltier for taking so long to _be_ ready. We talk a lot. She doesn't allow me to shy away from what I'm feeling, about her and about my family. She makes me talk to her about my sister, which is easier to talk about than it is to talk about my mother. I call her my roommate, sometimes. We just live in the same house, going days without talking or even seeing each other.

Until _that_ Thursday.

We're back at school, which means I'm just getting home from Cheerios' practice when the freakout I predicted begins. I mean, even if I know it's happening, I just can't stop it. I don't know how and I don't know if I can. It's late. Coach Sylvester kept me and Brittany well after practice to work on choreography for our routine for Regionals. I'm exhausted, which is what I'm telling Rachel over the phone as I walk through the front door. I have my phone perched between my ear and shoulder as I balance my bags and struggle to get my key back out of the front door.

"I'll be fine, Rachel," I say, slightly distracted. "I have food... somewhere."

"I don't like it."

I let out a tired breath, my back clicking. "There's leftover pasta from last night," I tell her as I deposit my bags at the bottom of the stairs. "LeRoy sent me home with some, remember?"

"Do you want me to come over?"

"I always _want_ you to come over," I say; "but it's late now and I'm exhausted and I doubt I'll be good company."

"But you're always good company, even if you're grumpy and irritable," she says, giggling softly.

"Thank you?" I question, moving towards the kitchen to fix myself something to eat. There _are_ leftovers but I had some for breakfast, which means it won't be a very filling dinner. And, after all the calories I just burned running endless laps for Coach Sylvester, I'm going to have to replenish them somehow. I start with a _Vitamin Water_.

"You're very welcome, Miss Fabray."

I sip at my drink as I search the fridge. "So, how was your afternoon?" I ask.

"Long," she answers. "Dance class and vocal lessons. You'll also be proud to know that I've finished my homework."

"I _am_ so proud," I deadpan, taking out LeRoy's food container and a cucumber. I suddenly feel like eating some cucumber sticks, which, realistically, doesn't give me that many calories but I'll worry about that later.

"As you should be," she says. "I worked really _hard_ today."

I laugh lightly, feeling the tension in my body begin to dissipate.

"Which was mainly because I wanted to give _you_ my undivided attention when you got here."

"Ooh, passive aggressive much?"

"It's not my fault you're so easy to miss, Quinn."

I smile. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I miss you too," I tell her. "Even though I saw you literally six hours ago."

"It feels like forever."

I startle at the sound of footsteps, and almost drop my phone. _Jesus_. I clutch at my heart and bring the phone back to my ear, just as my mother walks into the kitchen. She looks determined... to talk to me. I sigh.

"Hey, Rach?" I say into the phone.

"Hmm?"

"I've got to run," I say. "Text you later?"

"I'll be waiting."

"Bye, you," I say, a little breathless, and then I hang up and look to my mother, expectantly. "Hello," I say tensely.

"Hello," she returns, arching an eyebrow at the state of my dinner. Whatever. Why isn't _she_ making sure I'm eating properly? She's the parent here. It shouldn't matter that I'm just under a month away from turning eighteen. "You're home," she says.

I wait a beat. "I am, yes. Is that a problem?" I don't know why I add the question. Maybe I'm just desperate to have her engage with me. I just, I want her to _talk_ to me; acknowledge that I exist in this house; in this life in which she's determined to sweep my disappointments under the rug.

"No," she says, moving to lean against the kitchen island and crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm just surprised, that's all."

I want to frown but I don't. "Why?"

"Aren't you always over at the Berry house?"

Again, I choose not to react. "I didn't think you cared."

Her jaw clenches.

"Or noticed," I add, somewhat petulantly.

Her eyes narrow. "I do notice," she says; "and of course I care. Somebody in this house has to."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

She steps forward. "What do you think this all looks like?" she asks, menacingly. "My daughter, parading around this damn town with the daughter of those _sinners_!" she spits. "You don't think they see you with her? You don't think they talk about you? What would God think?"

I remain silent. Those things don't bother me. Not anymore.

And then. "What would your father think?"

I growl. "Like I care what he thinks!" I hiss.

She moves closer. "Oh, I think you do," she says. "I think you care about what _everyone_ thinks, and they're talking. Every day, they're talking about you and that Jewish girlfriend of yours."

"We're just friends," I find myself saying.

"Does it matter?" she snaps back, and I flinch. "People _talk_! They don't care about semantics! Haven't you done enough to disgrace this family?"

I feel as if I've been slapped. Beth is not a disgrace! "This _family_? Don't even pretend that this farce is a family! Just admit it, you can't stand me! You can't stand the idea that I've found actual people who actually _care_ about me, regardless of their sexual orientation. I can't even believe you."

"No, I can't believe _you_!" she yells, and it's the most emotion I've seen out of her since I told her about the breakup with Finn. "You think you're all high and mighty because you attend church every Sunday! You think God forgives you? When you're parading around this town with that girl like you're some kind of - "

"Some kind of what?" I shout. "What? Use your words, Mrs Fabray," I taunt. "You've clearly wanted to say this for a while, so, go ahead. Let's have at it. Tell me how much of a fucking disappointment I've been! I'm all ears!"

"Watch your language, young lady," she says tensely. "You're just a child. You know nothing."

"I'm considerably older than that time you kicked _a child_ out of your house," I hiss back.

"Then you'll know that you're never too young for it," she says, smiling harshly. "Keep this up, and you'll lose everything. Believe me. I _know_ what it feels like to have nothing."

The floor is ripped right out from under me, and my face falls.

She looks pleased for some reason, and then she spins on her heel and disappears from the kitchen. Mission accomplished then.

I feel hollow.

I'm also no longer hungry.

I switch to autopilot as I return the food to the fridge and head upstairs. I take a long, hot shower in an attempt to numb my body as much as my brain. I don't quite know what I'm feeling, even as the words we exchanged ping around in my head, just messing with all my progress. It's amazing, really, how much Judy Fabray can affect me. She said she has nothing. Nothing.

Not even me.

I suddenly reach for my phone and compose a message to Rachel. If I can't say the words out loud, maybe I can type them.

 _Quinn: I hate her. I hate her so much._

Her reply is instant.

 **Berry: What happened?**

 _Quinn: I'll tell you tomorrow, R. I'm going to bed. Goodnight. X_

 **Berry: Try not to let her get to you, okay? Goodnight, Quinn :***

* * *

My mood is considerably worse in the morning. I'm just a whirlwind of emotions I don't understand, and I just know this entire day is going to be complete and utter shit. Every second that goes past makes me angrier and more confused. I don't want my mother to have this kind of effect on me but she does. She _does_ , and I'm powerless. She _knows_ how to get to me. She _knows_ which buttons to push and exactly how to get under my skin.

It's the first time my full-blown HBIC glare is worn when I get to school for a while. I'm late enough that I can avoid having to go to Rachel's locker, which is a good thing, because I don't know what I'll end up saying to her if I do see her. People literally part for me as I walk through the corridor, some of them surprised and others slightly terrified. I haven't felt this out of sorts since -

Just, _since_.

I sit quietly in the corner during homeroom. Nobody dares to approach me. In AP Stats, Santana can _feel_ the tornado just waiting to be unleashed, which means that, beyond a simple greeting, she says nothing else to me. I'm aware of my phone buzzing - probably, definitely Rachel - but I ignore it and her. I can't handle this today. I can't handle the way my mother spoke about her or our relationship. It's not _wrong_ , and I shouldn't care what she thinks, but I do. In some irrational, painful way that I haven't been able to come to terms with; I still want to please her. I don't want to disappoint her. I just want her acceptance; her love.

Dating a girl will probably go beyond disappointment. Being with her, loving her, _choosing_ her. Because that's it, isn't it? Even though my mother wasn't explicit about the threat of it, if I do pursue this thing with Rachel, I lose my family... again. And there's no coming back from this. Nine months won't change anything this time. I won't be able to just _get rid_ of the evidence of my indiscretion and return home as if nothing happened. Rachel won't ever be a thing that gets swept under the rug.

Rachel or My Family.

That's the truth, and I turn it over and over in my head as I get through my lessons in complete silence. Even my teachers don't try to engage me in conversation. My facial expression is enough to let them know I'm in no mood for talking. The thoughts plague me. Rachel or My Family. It should be easy, I know. It should be simple. Except, I already know what it's like to be homeless. I know what it's like to have nothing and nobody and, as horrible as my living conditions currently are, I don't want to have _nothing_ again.

But Rachel.

Rachel or My Family.

By lunch, my shoulders are so tense, they're starting to ache. My entire body is taut, and I'm ready to lash out. Somebody's going to get it, and I'm making a list of people I wouldn't feel guilty handing it out to. Maybe I need to punch something. Or someone.

When the bell signalling lunch rings, I don't move. Santana is slow with her movements as she packs up her things. Maybe I should talk to her about this. I know I should. It will help. I mean, I can't talk to Rachel about this, can I? Just the fact that it's Rachel or My Family means that she's too involved in _all of it_. I know myself well enough that it's best if I stay as far away from her until I can sort out whatever is going on inside, because I don't want to hurt her. And I will, I know. I'll say things in defence to the questions she's surely to ask.

"What do you need from me?" Santana asks.

I take a breath. "Keep Rachel away from me."

She looks like she has questions but she doesn't ask them. It's what I love about her, really. "Okay."

I nod. "Thank you."

She gets to her feet and leaves me with my demons. I hate this. I hate all of this. I hate that it affects me this way, and I hate that there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'm better than this. I've built better protection. I won't let my mother inside my armour. I won't let her break me. When my phone buzzes again, I take it out to see I have thirteen unread messages, seven of which are from Rachel.

I ignore them all.

I don't move. I can't and I won't. I just need to get through lunch and the rest of my lessons without killing anyone and then I can spend the weekend figuring out just how I'm going to live this life of total and utter -

 _Everything_.

I consider skipping Glee. Happy people are annoying me today, and that room is just full of them.

I go anyway. I haven't _seen_ Rachel since Spanish, so I know I'm going just to see her face, even if she's probably angry at me or disappointed. I don't know what Santana told her, and I can only hope it wasn't too bad and is actually believable. I arrive at the choir room early enough to be the only person in it for a good five minutes. I sit in my usual seat and internally panic over whether Rachel will sit next to me today. I wouldn't blame her if she didn't, and I'm irritated with myself at how much I _want_ her to. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

My life was simple and easy before all of this. Before Rachel. Everything made sense when I was with Finn; a good-looking, all-American _boy_ , and nobody bat an eye. Sure, I managed to get pregnant by said boy - which wouldn't have happened with a girl, mind you - but I was doing what was expected back then.

And I can feel myself starting to do what's expected _right now_.

"Hi, Quinn."

I look up at Sam's smiling face, and my first instinct is to frown. I don't. In fact, I smile at him, and he looks momentarily taken aback. "Hi, Sam," I say. "How are you doing?"

He blinks. "Oh, I'm good," he says. "How are you?"

I don't want the small talk. I just - I don't know what I want. "I'm fine," I say, somewhat curtly, and then wince. "Look, remember when I told you I would keep you in mind when I thought I was ready?"

His eyes widen.

"Maybe we could go for coffee after church on Sunday," I offer, feeling bile rise in my gut. Good God, what am I doing? Quinn Fabray, stop this; you stop this right now. "If you're free." I'm losing it. I'm definitely losing it.

Sam looks shellshocked, and it'd be cute if I was actually into that kind of thing. "Of course," he says. "Definitely. Wow. Okay. Sunday, you said? After church. Okay." He's smiling widely now, and I have to look away. I am such a bitch.

When the choir room starts filling up, Sam moves away, knowing the seats on either side of me are reserved for some very important people. I don't look up when Rachel walks in. I haven't said a word to her all day and I doubt I'm going to start now. I don't know what I'm doing. All I want to do is sink into everything about her, but I can't bring myself to do it.

Glee, itself, is torturous in that Rachel's angelic voice permeates my brain and suffocates me. We perform a group number that drains the life right out of me and I'm back to my foul mood by the time we're back in the choir room and Mr Schuester is saying words I don't register. Rachel is sitting next to me as she usually does but there hasn't been any time to talk.

Until now.

Mr Schuester has just dismissed us, and I sense her turn her body to face me. "Santana says you're having a Cheerio intensive day," she starts, and my heart hurts. It _hurts_. "Is _that_ really why you're ignoring me?"

My jaw clenches and my nostrils flare. "No," I say.

"Do I want to know the real reason why?"

"No."

She opens her mouth to say something else but - good Lord - Sam picks that exact moment to come up to me, that same, stupidly goofy smile on his face and that pained desperation still in his eyes.

"So, do you want to meet somewhere or am I picking you up?" he asks, a little too loudly, and I do my best to ignore the quiet gasp beside me.

I glance up at him and school my features from murderous to passive. "The former," I force out.

"Awesome," he says after a moment. "I can't wait."

I don't respond and he, mercifully, bounces away. My jaw muscles are starting to hurt; I'm clenching them so hard.

"The fuck, Q?" Santana asks on my left side. "You're going out with Trouty Mouth?"

"It's just coffee," I say through gritted teeth.

"But what about Be - "

"San," Brittany interrupts, putting a hand on the Latina's forearm and stopping her. "Leave it."

I suddenly stand, as if I've been electrocuted. This is too much. I can't be here, sitting next to Rachel while I _know_ I'm hurting her. I can't handle this right now. I can't handle anything. So, I start to walk, needing to get away as fast as possible. I tell myself I won't look back. I tell myself I shouldn't, but I do anyway, and I definitely shouldn't have.

Rachel's eyes are on me, clear devastation on her face, and Brittany's arm is around her. Well, _fuck_.

No.

Rachel or My Family.

I have to decide, and I have to stick with it.

* * *

Sam is smiling again, his mouth wide and his eyes practically closed. If I were any other person, I would find him cute. There definitely is something appealing about him, and I feel a little sick when I realise the only thing appealing about him - to me, at least - is that my mother would approve of him. He talks a lot - maybe he's nervous - and I'm pretending to listen. I've spaced out a few times, but he hasn't noticed. The idiot picked the Lima Bean, which is a place I haven't been back to since Finn broke up with me. Granted, there aren't many places to go for a 'coffee date' in Lima.

It doesn't take me long to start thinking about Rachel. Technically, I haven't stopped, but she moves to the forefront of my mind without my consent. And, when I start imagining her sitting across from me instead of Sam, all sorts of bad things roll through my head and down to my chest. Guilt, mainly.

I panic. "I can't do this."

He stops speaking abruptly, his face morphing into confusion. "What?"

I shake my head. "I can't do this," I repeat. "I thought - I thought I could, but I..." I get to my feet, stumbling slightly. I have to get out of here. Right now. "I'm sorry, Sam," I say as calmly as I can, even though my heart is thundering against my ribcage. "I thought I was ready, but I'm obviously not. Sorry. I'm so sorry." And then I leave. I spin on my heel and walk out of that shop, aware that he's saying my name. I don't look back. I _can't_.

I drive to the park. I just - I need to be able to clear my head; sort through my feelings. I need a safe place to think because this entire weekend has been torture. Everything about it. I mean, not only have I been plagued by _that_ look on Rachel's face but the fact that I haven't been able to talk to her all weekend has made me disgustingly miserable. I don't even know what to say to her. I don't know what to tell _anyone_. Santana sent me a message saying Brittany was mad at me, though she still understood what I was doing, which just made me feel worse. And, really, if Brittany seems to understand all of this, why doesn't she explain it to me?

I spend all afternoon in the park, just thinking. I think of Rachel mostly, and then of my family - which is a term I think I'm going to have to start using loosely - and eventually my future. What makes me happy? _Who_ makes me happy? Without any external factors, what would I do? With nothing to worry about, the answer is simple. My mother can go to hell, for all I care.

But.

Reaching no conclusions, I return to church. I do most of my profound thinking when I'm surrounded by the peace I want to feel in my heart. Perhaps, to some, it may be sacrilegious to be contemplating my sexual orientation _in_ a church, but where else am I supposed to do that? The church is supposed to welcome the sinners too, isn't it? I suppose it helps that I no longer view what I feel for Rachel as a sin.

I slip into the thirteenth pew, sit up straight, rest my hands in my lap and _listen_. The theme to Reverend Jimmy's evening sermon is similar to that of this morning's, but there's an obvious difference in the tone. The morning sermon was lighter, more inspiring, and this one is darker in a way, truthful in its simplicity. In other words, life generally sucks, and you just have to keep going regardless, because there _are_ good times.

I'm just so tired. I wish someone could give me the answers I need. Maybe I need some divine intervention... which arrives in the form of my favourite hymn, and serves to cloud my thoughts in something greater than I am. If only for a moment.

 _Oh Lord my God_  
 _When I in awesome wonder_  
 _Consider all the worlds_  
 _Thy hands have made_  
 _I see the stars_  
 _I hear the rolling thunder_  
 _Thy power throughout_  
 _The universe displayed_

 _Then sings my soul_  
 _My Savior, God, to Thee_  
 _How great thou art_  
 _How great thou art_  
 _Then sings my soul_  
 _My Savior, God, to Thee_  
 _How great Thou art_  
 _How great Thou art_

 _And when I think of God,_  
 _His son not sparing,_  
 _Sent Him to die,_  
 _I scarce can take it in;_  
 _That on the cross, my burden_  
 _gladly bearing He bled and died_  
 _to take away my sin_

 _Then sings my soul_  
 _My Savior, God, to Thee_  
 _How great thou art_  
 _How great thou art_  
 _Then sings my soul_  
 _My Savior, God, to Thee_  
 _How great Thou art_  
 _How great Thou art_

 _When Christ shall come_  
 _With shout of acclamation_  
 _And take me home_  
 _What joy shall fill my heart_  
 _Then I shall bow_  
 _With humble adoration_  
 _And then proclaim My God_  
 _How great Thou art_

 _Then sings my soul_  
 _My Savior, God, to Thee_  
 _How great Thou art_  
 _How great Thou art_  
 _Then sings my soul_  
 _My Savior, God, to Thee_  
 _How great Thou art_  
 _How great Thou art_

 _How great Thou art_  
 _How great Thou art_

The music continues to ring in my head as Reverend Jimmy finishes the service with a prayer, before he dismisses us. I stay seated as the congregation begins to shuffle out of the church. I can't really bring myself to move. My heart feels heavy and my head feels even heavier. I feel weighed down by everything going on inside of me and I just want clarity. I wish it all just made sense. I need it to make sense.

When the church is emptied of people except for me, I drop my head and close my eyes. I try to pray but my brain is just filled with images of everything Rachel. Her smile, her pout, her laugh, her smell, the feel of her hand in mine, the way she hugs me without hesitation. I miss her in a way I didn't think was humanly possible. I've never really felt this way about anyone before. I _never_ missed Finn like this, which means something I'm not willing to accept.

I open my eyes when I feel a presence to my right. Reverend Jimmy is standing perfectly still, his blue eyes watching me with poorly-concealed concern. He's a man of few words, so he says nothing as he sits down at the very end of the pew, crossing one leg over the other and _waiting_. Clearly, _I_ will have to be the one to begin this conversation. I've asked him an endless number of questions about life and love and religion, but I can't bring myself to speak to him yet. Something is obviously troubling me but, still, he waits patiently.

"I think I'm considering coming to the evening services instead," I eventually say.

He looks at me. "Oh?"

"It's less crowded," I elaborate. "Less eyes."

"Is that truly what worries you?"

I sigh. "Honestly... no."

He waits again, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Strangers aren't what worry me," I confess. "It's my family. They'll make me choose."

"Haven't you already?"

I sit back, wringing my fingers in my lap. There's just all this pressure and expectation and, yes, I've made a decision that may or may not _break me_. Life without Rachel is already unbearable. I don't want to suffer through another day without seeing her, talking to her, touching her... just, being with her.

He clears his throat, and I look at him. "The question, I believe, you should be asking yourself is, who, in your life, is _worth_ it?"

I gulp. "When put that way, the answer is simple," I tell him, and his ocean eyes are unwavering. I feel a calmness settle over me as I accept the truth of my simple and easy answer. There is only one person who is worth it in this scenario, and it sure as hell isn't me.

"Accept the answer to _that_ question, and you will find the peace you search for in both your head and your heart." It's the last thing he says before he rises to his feet and leaves me with my thoughts. My current path won't give me peace. That much is obvious. But, do I deserve peace? Do I deserve _her_?

I want her. But, is it enough? Am _I_ enough?

Eventually, I leave and go for a drive. I just - I can't be at my house right now. Regardless of whether my mother is there, I just _can't_. She's caused all of this and I don't trust myself enough not to reveal everything in a fit of rage.

 _Accept the answer to that question, and you will find the peace you search for in both your head and your heart_. It's what I want.

I want peace.

And I want Rachel. _She_ is worth it.

The moment I answer the question in my head, I say it out loud to solidify it. My heart beats a little faster but I, once again, feel calm. Until I feel panicked and desperate. Which has me turning my car around and driving straight to the Berry house with exactly one thing on my mind. I don't drive carefully, my sudden determination overwhelming. I'm not really thinking clearly. All I know is I have to see Rachel right now. I'll die if I don't.

I don't even know what time it is as I pull into the driveway, practically run out and bang on the front door, hard enough to hurt my hand but I don't stop. I have to see her _right now_ , and I need this door to open, and I don't even know where my key is. It's late, I know, but it can't wait. It can't. When the door does finally open, I'm met with a bleary-eyed LeRoy.

"Quinn?" he asks, clearly confused. "Honey, what are you doing here? What's wrong?"

"Where's Rachel?" I ask, bouncing slightly.

"In her room," he answers, rubbing his eyes of sleep. "She's been up there all weekend. Did something happen?"

"Yes," I say, stepping into the house. "I made a mistake, and I'm here to fix it."

He looks like he wants to ask me more questions, but he just waves his hand in defeat, and I race up the stairs to Rachel's bedroom. I barely give myself time to calm my breathing before I'm knocking and pushing the door open. Her lampshade is on, and she's just climbed out of bed, clearly woken by the ruckus I've just caused.

Her eyes widen at the sight of me. "Quinn?"

Everything stops for me. The world, my breathing, my heart. Even as she stands there in her matching pyjamas, hair mussed from sleep and a dazed look on her face; she is honestly the most beautiful person I have ever seen. I take a step towards her, shutting the door with my foot and breathing out. I'm calm. I've never felt more at ease in my entire life.

"Quinn?" she questions again, looking unsure.

I close my eyes for a moment. "Hi," I say.

Her brow furrows. "Hi."

"I'm sorry," I tell her. "God, I am so sorry, Rachel. I got scared. I got _so_ scared." My hands are shaking but I push through. I have to get this out. "I'm sorry I freaked out and I'm sorry I let my mom get in my head. I'm sorry I made you doubt me and I'm so sorry I hurt you, Rachel. We have a _thing_. We've always had a thing, and it scares me. I'm always terrified of it, and it's not because you're a girl." I pause to figure out how true those words are, and I'm both surprised and relieved that they feel true. Right now, at least. "I _really_ don't care about that. It's you, and the way you make me feel, and I run when I get scared. But I'm all in now. I figured it out. It took me a while, but my head's finally caught up to my heart and I want nothing more than to _be with you_. In _every_ way.

"I'm ready, Berry. I'm ready for this; for you; for _us_ , if you'll still have me."

She just stares at me for the longest time, and I feel myself losing my thunder. Oh, God. What was I thinking, just barging in here like this? I take a small step back, poised to make my escape, but then I feel her hands on my cheeks and her eyes meet mine. Maybe she reads my panic or she sees something else because, before I know what's happening, she's pressing her lips to mine and _ohmygod_. It's a hesitant kiss at first, tentative because we're both a little unsure. She pulls away first, dropping her hands, and I go chasing her lips with my own, stepping forward into her space.

This kiss is different. This kiss is _more_ , and I know to appreciate this moment. It's probably the last time I'll own my heart.

At the return of my kiss, I find myself sinking and allowing her to take control. It should be an unpleasant feeling but it isn't. I'm sinking, being pulled down; then forward, _into_ her. My heart feels as if it's about to burst out of my chest. I can't breathe, I can't even think, as Rachel's mouth slants under mine. The kiss itself is slow and steady, even _innocent_ in a way, and I can feel her right hand cup around my hip. There's steady pressure there, and I can't mistake the gentle tug.

Rachel steps closer, and the pressure against my mouth increases. Maybe she makes the decision - I certainly don't - but I feel a puff of breath as her lips part and then there's her tongue. Slowly, almost cautiously, she slides it across the seam of my mouth, seeking entrance, and my gasp of surprise grants it to her. Her grip on my hip tightens infinitesimally and her other hand moves to cup the side of my face, her thumb brushing back and forth over the skin of my cheek.

The sensations are distracting, and my chest is already on fire, which just gets worse at the first touch of our tongues. She makes a strangled, mewling sound, pulling me closer, and she exhales through her nose, warm air floating across my upper lip. Which is now being teased by a tongue that I now know is particularly skilful. She's sure in her strokes, leaning in and leading the kiss in a way that sends that fire down from my chest to the pit of my stomach.

It burns. Everything burns.

Rachel makes a humming sound - maybe it's a moan - before she pulls away with the intention of catching her breath. Her lips have barely left mine when I'm bringing her back. Forget about our blazing lungs; I want _this_. I can feel her smile, her mouth curving against my own, which just makes me smile as well.

My right hand curls around the nape of her neck and my thumb brushes against her jaw. She leans into my touch almost instinctively, her head tilting to one side. The feel and the taste of her are too intoxicating for coherent thought. My teeth scrape her bottom lip, and she sighs into my mouth. I feel the warmth spread outwards from the centre of my body, which makes me want to hold on tighter, bring her closer, lose myself further in her.

There's a knock on the door and we practically jump apart, breathless. She looks slightly disheveled, lips swollen and eyes shining. I'm certain I don't look much better, which is probably why LeRoy has _that_ look on his face when he finally opens the door.

"Not that I don't love midnight wakeup calls," he says, eyeing me; "but what's going on here?"

I don't know what to say to him, but Rachel clearly does and she steps forward. "We had a misunderstanding," she says. "Quinn was just eager to sort it out before school tomorrow. We didn't want it to be awkward."

He looks skeptical, his eyes darting between us. "So, everything is sorted out then?"

"We're working on it, yes," she says.

"Okay," LeRoy concedes. "Don't stay up too late." He looks at me. "And you're _staying_. We've already talked about this, and I won't have you driving around so late."

I nod once.

"Goodnight, girls," he says, and we echo his sentiment. Satisfied, he closes the door and we hear him pad down the corridor until he closes himself away in his and Hiram's bedroom. When we're relatively safe, Rachel turns to me, her facial expression unreadable.

I suddenly feel uncertain.

A beat later, her face morphs into something almost... predatory, and I take a small step back, alarmed. "Seriously," she says, exasperation seeping into her tone; "what took you so damn long?"


	14. fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _i knew you_ _before_ _i met you.  
_ _i've known you my whole life._

 _._

When I wake, there's a warm body wrapped around mine from behind. Quinn fits in every space I'm not occupying and my smile is stupid silly when I take stock of just where her hands are. One is pressed against the bare skin of my abdomen under my pyjama top and the other is seeking warmth between my thighs. I feel her everywhere; _all_ over me and _inside_ of me.

My memory of the previous night is fresh in my mind, which makes my smile widen and my breath quicken. This is real. This is happening. I feel her shift behind me, her fingers trailing over my skin as she pulls me closer. Her nose nuzzles against the back of my neck and I feel a soft press of lips against my covered shoulder. She hums deep in her chest, and then settles again. I've honestly never felt so... I don't even know what I'm feeling. Warm. Safe. Content. _Happy_.

I am so in love; it's actually pathetic.

Quinn shifts again, clearly awake now. "I should get up now, shouldn't I?" she murmurs, hot breath against my skin, and I shiver.

"Probably," I say, my own voice thick with sleep. Neither of us makes a move. I can't help my smile. "How do you feel?" I ask.

"Honestly?" she breathes, and I squirm. "I am so comfortable right now; I don't think I _can_ move."

I giggle softly, my fingers brushing over the skin of her forearm. "We have to go to school, Quinn," I tell her.

"Do we; do we really?"

I shift, rolling onto my back so I can see her properly and _gosh_. She even looks perfect this morning, after I pretty much destroyed her hair with my hands and attacked her mouth with my own right into the early morning. We kissed, _a lot_. We talked a bit too, but we mostly kissed. She truly is a phenomenal kisser, which I told her repeatedly as I tried and failed to get over the fact that Quinn Fabray's tongue was in my mouth. I still can't believe it.

"Hi," she says, looking at me.

"Hi," I echo. "Time for school."

She lets out a groan, closing her eyes, and I just look at her face because I can. I don't have to avert my eyes anymore. I can openly stare at her and try to wrap my head around just how beautiful she actually is. She's one of those out-of-this-world beauties, carrying it with her in everything she says and does. It's in her very being, gentle and understated. Just, perfect.

"Quinn?"

She opens her eyes and meets my gaze. "Good morning, beautiful," she whispers.

I blush, and her face spreads into a perfect smile. "Is this real life?" I ask, burying my face in my hands.

She chuckles lightly, her hand moving my two out of the way so she can see my eyes. "No, it's not," she says when I'm finally looking at her. "It's better."

I suck in a breath before I burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh, you are _so_ cute," I tell her, my one hand cupping her cheek. "Why are you so stinking cute?"

She looks slightly affronted, which makes her look even cuter. Quickly, and before I even know what's happening, she's rolling onto me, her face buried in my hair as she presses warm, open-mouthed kisses against my throat. Okay, I could definitely get used to waking up to this. The weight of her body presses me down into the mattress and I can't breathe because it feels so good. My hands slip into her hair, my fingers scraping along her scalp, and she moans. Her hands are on my sides, running up and down and making me squirm, and not because I'm ticklish.

Her teeth bite down on the sensitive skin of my neck and I let out a breathless gasp, clutching her closer. Her hands slide around my back, and I feel her lick over the bite, in an attempt to soothe it. I'm probably going to bruise, but I really don't care. It feels so good.

"Quinn," I breathe, because I want her mouth on mine but she's carefully avoiding that.

When my alarm goes off again, she pulls back and looks at me through her lashes. Her sigh matches mine, and she rolls off me and sits up. I watch as she runs her hands through her hair and stands. She stretches her arms up in the air and I catch sight of a sliver of skin between her sweatpants and t-shirt. Without thinking about it too much, I rise up onto my knees and shuffle across the bed. I tug on her t-shirt and she turns to look at me, her eyes unfocused. I move to the very edge of the bed and she steps towards me, her hands automatically moving to rest on my hips. I slip my arms around her neck and thread my fingers through her hair. I can't get enough of the feel of her hair. It's just so soft.

"Kiss me," I say.

She raises her eyebrows. "Are you tired?" she asks. "Because you get bossy only when you're tired."

"I just want to kiss you."

She shakes her head. "But my breath, Rachel," she whines.

"Closed mouth, then."

She smiles faintly before she leans forward and presses her lips to mine for just a moment. I breathe out through my nose, and she pulls away, stepping back and away from me. Her eyes meet mine for a moment before she ducks her head and then disappears into my bathroom. I spend a moment having to remind myself that this is, in fact, real life. I flop down on my bed, shake out my body with a stupid smile on my face and then relax into my mattress, content. I close my eyes and _breathe_. I can feel her everywhere.

Quinn Fabray. My _girlfriend_.

I giggle. I can't stop myself. I feel so... giddy. I feel it in my very bones; swimming through my veins and filling my lungs. I just lie there with my eyes closed until Quinn comes back out, dressed in her clothes from the previous night. She'll have to hurry home if she's going to get ready in time not to be late for school. I don't move as she walks towards me, a steady smile on her face. Slowly, she runs a hand over my hair, bends to kiss the corner of my mouth, and then she's gone, leaving me breathless.

It takes me an obscenely long time to drag myself out of bed and get ready. I don't _want_ to shower because there are parts of me that smell like Quinn, but then I remember I'll be able to smell like her again and I smile like a complete and utter fool. My cheeks are even starting to hurt.

Before I head downstairs for breakfast, I pack my bag and move to pocket my phone, only for it to buzz in my hand. If it's even possible, my smile widens at the sight of Quinn's name. Today has already been amazing.

 _Quinn: So, I might have spaced out a little this morning because I was distracted by the fact that I now get to kiss you._

I breathe in, and then out.

 **Berry: Is it always going to be like this?**

 _Quinn: God, I hope so._

 **Berry: Me, too.**

 _Quinn: See you in a little bit. X_

I suddenly can't wait. Which is why I hurry downstairs, practically wolf down my breakfast while ignoring my dads' wide eyes, and then leave for school. Quinn's car isn't in the parking lot - it's still a little early - and I use the time to try to settle myself. I take deep breaths as I make my way into the school and towards my locker, suddenly worried that I'm literally _projecting_. I'm vibrating, and I'm sure people will be able to tell. Quinn and I didn't discuss _this_ part. How am I supposed to act _normal_ now that I know how warm the inside of her mouth is?

Whoo.

I grip the door of my locker and try to steady myself. I mean, we discussed keeping our relationship - oh my God, we're in a _relationship_ \- quiet, but I never really thought about _how_ or even _if_ I could do that. Oh, my God. How am I supposed to do that? What if I fail? What if I give us away?

I _feel_ the moment Quinn arrives in the corridor and, as much control as I think I have, I fail at not turning to look at her. I think, like everyone, my jaw drops at the sight of her. She's not wearing anything different - still in her Cheerios' uniform - but the air around her is _different_. It's obvious something is different; she's practically glowing, her hips swaying and the faint smile on her face drawing me in.

Okay. Just breathe.

Quinn's smile widens when she spots me and she alters her course, making a beeline straight for me. I suddenly feel as if every eye is on me and, as she moves towards me with purpose, I'm hit by a wave of nerves. In my mind, she's going to kiss me, but she just comes to a stop in front of me, her attention solely on me.

"Good morning," she says, smiling shyly for only a moment, before she seems to recover and her facial expression morphs into something mischievous. "I see you've got some concealer on your neck there. Hiding something?" She asks it so innocently; I immediately blush.

"Hi," I manage to say. "And no, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh really?"

I nod slowly, trying and failing not to let her hazel gaze consume me.

"How are you this morning?"

"Oh, you know," I say with a non-committal wave of my hand. "Same old, same old. Can't complain."

She's grinning unabashedly now, and I wonder when is the right time to tell her I'm in love with her. Would she run? I mean, I don't think this is just a fling to her. If she wanted a fling, she could have picked anyone. She's with _me_ for a reason. She asked _me_ to be her girlfriend. Just the memory of her breathless and almost desperate question makes my skin tingle. We just look at each other in silence. All of this is just surreal.

Quinn takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly. "I should go," she says.

I nod. "Yes, you should."

"But, first, you have to hug me."

I wait.

"And then you have to be the one to release me, because I doubt I'll be able to."

I practically launch myself at her, wrapping my arms around her neck and breathing her in. I feel her chuckle against me as she squeezes my waist, her arms strong and steady. I close my eyes, count to ten and then forcibly remove myself from this embrace. My hands linger on her shoulders for a beat too long, and she smiles knowingly.

"Later?" I ask.

"I'll text you."

"Just be PC about it, would you?" I warn her. "I have no control over my responses, and I would much rather not embarrass myself in public."

She breathes out, her eyes shining in a way I've never seen. It's sobering, being able to see the depth of her affection in her features and her gaze. "There are so many things I want to say and do right now," she confesses quietly. "I've never - I've never felt anything like this before."

I swallow nervously. "Scary?"

"A little," she admits. "But all the positives greatly outweigh any lingering doubts, Rachel. I am in this. Wholeheartedly."

I blink. "Okay."

"One day," she whispers, taking a small step towards me. "One day, I'm going to kiss you in this corridor without a care in the world."

I shake my head in disbelief. "What are you trying to do to me right now?" I ask, breathless. Really, I don't think I've been able to catch my breath since she _stormed_ into my room with that determined look on her face.

And her smirk is now in full-swing. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says innocently. Then, with a turn and a small flick of her hair, she says, "Later, Berry." And then she's gone, like a whirlwind, leaving me with only minutes to recover.

I make it to homeroom without incidence. Tina, Mike and Artie are having one of their love triangle spats, which allows me to go relatively unnoticed as I try to reconcile all the variations of Quinn Fabray I've been privileged enough to meet in my head. I _was_ sure she would give me whiplash one day and, truly, I'm not ready for the full force of a playful, flirty Quinn. I don't think anyone would be. No wonder Finn always looked confused and flustered around her. Being hit by that megawatt smile is enough to cause anyone to lose the ability to speak.

When I get to Trigonometry, I have a text message from Quinn.

 _Quinn: So, now that I get to kiss you and all the good stuff, it's literally all I can think about, which really means only one thing: there goes my 4.0 GPA._

 _Jesus_. Okay.

 **Berry: What part of 'PC' didn't you understand?**

 _Quinn: I'm a little slow on the uptake today. Sorry. My head is full of happiness._

Where has this person been all my life? Seriously.

 **Berry: And your heart?**

 _Quinn: We're currently having a very serious conversation (I'm not crazy). I'll keep you posted on how our communication improves._

I giggle, ducking my head.

 **Berry: You are so weird.**

 _Quinn: You like it._

 **Berry: I do. I really do.**

I can barely concentrate when class starts but I make sure to take down the notes even if I'm not registering them. I should be more concerned by my inattention, but I _do_ have my own personal tutor. Who has warm, soft hands and an expert mouth. Hmm, we're probably not going to get any work done. I find it rather unsettling, and I get more uncomfortable as the seconds tick by.

I get to Spanish before Quinn, which is no feat. I was forced to run. I wanted to be here first, just so I can be safe in my seat when she walks in. Which is a good thing too, because she seems to skip a step when she sees me, and I can't help my smile. She arches an eyebrow, lifts her head slightly and keeps walking, brushing past me in a way that sets not only my arm on fire, but my whole body. The entire lesson, I feel her eyes on me, boring into my back. Even _if_ Mr Schuester was making sense, I wouldn't understand a word. It's... overwhelming, and I'm not sure I like it. I mean, I do, but it feels like too much. I can't even concentrate.

When the bell rings, I escape from the classroom to try to get an uncharged moment. Just a breather.

I go straight to the library, fully aware that my phone is buzzing in my pocket. It's definitely Quinn, but I wait until I'm seated at my desk in the library to look at what she's said. If she means to antagonise me further - by just being her normal and perfect and overwhelming herself - I think I might snap. I'm not mad, not really. Well, not at her; just at the fact this entire thing seems to be doing things to my mind and body without my control.

 _Quinn: I did something wrong?_

 _Quinn: I'll turn it down. Sorry. I don't want to make you uncomfortable._

 _Quinn: See you at lunch? X_

I'm not sure what to say to her at first. First, I'm amazed she noticed something was off at all... until I'm just not surprised by it. Quinn obviously pays attention. Second, I'm taken aback by the fact she addressed it at all.

 **Berry: You did nothing wrong, Quinn. It's just a little overwhelming at the moment.**

 **Berry: Of course. I'll be the one startling you at your locker :)**

She doesn't reply, which might be her way of telling me she's allowing me a breather. I _am_ overwhelmed, but I love everything that's happening. I love having her attention and basking in it. I love knowing she's thinking about me almost as much as I'm thinking about her. I also love that she wants to kiss me in the corridor, and then a little heartbroken that she didn't - she _can't_. Which is confusing. Which is something I'm both fine with and also not. I've never had to hide my feelings. It's not part of who I am. I wear it all on my sleeve and on my face. I'm definitely not as good at it as Quinn is and I don't think I ever want to be.

It's when I'm in English with Kurt - and Mercedes and Joe and Lauren and Finn - that my day gets _strange_. I sit next to Kurt because Mrs Lang separated Kurt and Mercedes on the first day, citing that their incessant whispering was going to drive her to drink. I don't blame her. They _can_ be relentless. Which is why I'm not surprised when Kurt turns to me as soon as I sit down. But, what _is_ surprising, is the question he asks me.

"Why is Quinn Fabray so happy today?"

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, just managing not to squeak. "What?"

"Is it because she went on a supposed coffee date with Sam yesterday, because said boy looks positively miserable today?"

I force down a wave of guilt over the male blond and try not to reveal anything to the surprisingly perceptive Kurt Hummel. I wouldn't even know what to say on a normal day, let alone today.

"Which is really a match-up I've never understood," Kurt continues, unaware of my struggles. "I mean, they're both blond and pretty, but no. Just, _no_."

I'm inclined to agree with him, but I still say nothing.

"So, what is it?" he asks. "I mean, to the untrained eye, there isn't much difference, but I've definitely noticed, and I'm not the only one."

I frown. "The only one?"

He jerks his head to a spot behind us and I turn to look. Finn's eyes are on us and he doesn't even bother to look away when I catch him staring.

I turn back to look at Kurt. "I'm not really sure what's happening right now," I say, because I'm not. "Why is Finn looking at me?"

"Because you and Quinn are BFFs now, aren't you?" he asks, giving me a pointed look. "Where else is everyone supposed to go for the information we so crave about the Head Cheerio? Santana? Brittany? I don't think so. You're our best bet."

I frown. "We discussed this, Kurt," I say seriously. "I won't betray Quinn's trust and, really, speculation about her _happiness_ is a little juvenile, don't you think? Isn't she allowed to feel whatever emotion she wants to feel without everyone suddenly thinking it's their damn business to know why?"

He leans back. "Jeez, okay, Rachel, don't get your panties in a twist," he says. "I just thought I'd ask."

"Sorry," I immediately say, feeling bad.

He sighs. "I know you're just trying to protect her," he placates, patting my hand softly. "I'm sorry I asked. Just, you know, Finn isn't me."

I frown in confusion.

"He's less likely to back off than I am."

Oh.

Well, now that I'm aware of another set of eyes on me, it's all I can feel as the lesson goes on. I can't help wishing for the blissful ignorance I felt this morning, wrapped in Quinn's warmth. I had an idea today would be an adjustment, but this is something else entirely. It's a little draining, really, and all I want is to see Quinn. I don't know; just for the assurance.

So, when the bell rings, I'm out of my seat and rushing out of the classroom before Kurt - or Finn - can even register I've moved. I go straight to my locker, deposit my books and then go find Quinn. Surprisingly, she isn't by her locker but I wait regardless. I wait a while, actually. The corridor fills up and empties before Quinn emerges from around the corner. With Sam.

My heart drops. They seem to be having a very serious conversation, and she hasn't noticed me yet. I watch her though, noting the lack of emotion on her face and her closed-off body language. She's clutching her binder and notebook close to her chest, nodding absently to whatever Sam is saying.

Quinn eventually looks up, her passive expression faltering at the sight of me. It drops down, worry in her brow, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to feel. When Quinn and Sam get to her locker, Sam greets me and, yes, he does look a little miserable, but there's something more now. It takes me another moment to recognise it as understanding.

"I'll see you guys in Glee," he says, stepping back. "Thanks for the talk, Quinn."

She smiles at him for the first time, and we both watch him disappear before we turn our attention to each other. There's apprehension in her gaze for a beat before she tilts her head to the side. "Excuse me, Berry," she says carefully. "You're blocking my locker."

Silently, I step to the side and watch her profile as she opens her locker and deposits her books. Her fingers make deliberate movements, eventually closing around her lock and closing the door again. It all takes barely a minute, and then she's turning to face me.

"Shall we go to the cafeteria?" she offers.

At my nod, she spins on her heel and offers me her arm. I don't hesitate to slip mine through hers, and then we're on our way. We're walking slowly, in no rush at all, and it helps settle the unpleasant churning in my stomach.

"Sam had questions about yesterday," she says after a while, not looking at me. "I owed him more of an explanation for practically running out of there the way I did. I wasn't - I wasn't very fair to him, and I needed to apologise to him, and again to you. I needed him to know that yesterday had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me. In a perfect, uncomplicated and unhappy world, yesterday would have been the be all and end all for me. He's my mom's wet dream, really, and I thought, maybe, I could do this one thing.

"I thought I could _make_ myself want to be with him because I've already been this complete disappointment in so many other aspects of my life. But, I was sitting there across from him, and I just couldn't. I remembered a conversation I had with Hiram, and I just _couldn't_. He said he decided that he didn't want to get trapped by his family's expectations. And, when he did that, it was even more difficult allowing himself to want what he wants. So, I know my strength comes from being myself, and it's very freeing. I just - I know I would never be ready for _him_ , when I've been ready for you since before I even knew there _was_ something to be getting ready for."

I feel her turn her gaze on me, and I automatically look into her eyes.

"I've been waiting for you a long time, Rachel Berry," she whispers. "This entire thing is scary and it's new and the last thing I want is to screw it up like I did with - " she stops suddenly.

Like she did with Finn. Still, to this day, she's convinced _she_ did something wrong. That boy is such an idiot.

She clears her throat. "So, what I need from you is to tell me if it's too much or if it's too little. Kind of like you did today, I guess. I _know_ you don't like the idea of hiding but I _can't_. _We_ can't. I thought - I thought we discussed this last night."

"We did," I find myself saying. "But, you should be aware that my brain function diminishes quite significantly when you're kissing me."

She manages a smile.

"And it's not that, actually," I tell her. "I just feel a little _odd_. I can't explain it. This _is_ the adjustment period, and it's going to require adjustment." I sigh. "I was _so happy_ this morning, and then the world decided to make itself known, and now I feel as if I'm being split in two."

Sensing the severity of what I'm saying - or not saying - Quinn slows our walk and pulls me into a bathroom. She checks that it's empty, locks the door and gives me her full attention. "Split in two?" she prompts.

I wring my fingers together, uncertain. I wouldn't even know how to explain whatever I'm feeling.

Quinn steps back and I see her panic. "Do you - God - do you not want to do this?" she asks, her voice so small, and it tugs on my heartstrings.

I snap to, immediately. "What? No! Nothing like that," I hasten to say. "I want this! I want this _so much_ , Quinn."

"Then, what's wrong?" she asks, clearly confused.

I falter. "I don't know."

She takes a long, deep breath before she straightens up. "Okay," she says. "Let's talk it out, okay? What are you feeling?"

I look at her in surprise. Is Quinn Fabray literally about to become my human dream journal? Yes, yes she is. "I feel... overwhelmed."

She nods once. "Okay, what else?"

"I feel... confused."

She blinks, her eyes darkening as my words settle over her. "About?"

"Not about _you_ ," I assure her. "Not you, Quinn. I want _this_ , I do. I want _you_." She waits. "What I'm confused about is how to be your school friend, your best friend, your secret girlfriend, the person people seem to want to approach when you're suddenly displaying emotion or - "

"Wait, what?"

I take a deep breath. "Kurt asked me if Sam was the reason you were so happy today," I tell her. "And Finn was giving off vibes that he wanted to ask me about it as well. And, frankly, I don't know how to deflect and lie, when all I know is that the sudden spring in your step and lightness in your eyes is because of..." I trial off.

"You," she finishes for me. "Of course, it's because of you."

"And that makes me feel wonderful, Quinn. It makes me feel happy and excited and everything good. But - "

"But what?"

"I _really_ don't know."

She's blinking rapidly as understanding dawns on her. "Oh."

I just stare at her, unsure what to say.

"You're not sure," she says, sounding much calmer than I feel. "I don't understand why - why did you agree to - if you're not - " she pauses, shaking her head at her own thoughts. "This whole time, we were both concerned about _my_ being ready when we should have been more worried about you, apparently."

She looks so defeated, and all I want is to make sense of it for her but I can't. I can't even make sense of it for myself. She probably recognises my stance because she doesn't push any further. She rather moves towards me and places a gentle kiss against my cheek. She opens her mouth to say something, but decides against it and snaps it shut. And then, just like that, she unlocks the door and is gone.

I feel awful and I'm not really sure why. Or I am. What is happening right now? I don't understand. I was fine. _We_ were fine. This is the first hurdle - it's not even a hurdle - and I'm already faltering. Taking a breath, I relock the door, take out my phone and dial my Dad. He answers on the fifth ring.

"Hello, Sweetheart."

"Hi, Dad," I say, moving towards the sinks and slipping onto the counter. "Do you have time to talk?"

"I always have time to talk to you," he says. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know."

He takes a breath. "Okay...?"

"I'm about to tell you something very important. I haven't told you before because I was convinced I could handle it on my own, which, looking back at my total breakdown when I was coming to terms with my feelings for Quinn, was a stupid idea." He remains silent. "As you know, I've been waiting for Quinn to _be ready_. I wanted her to be sure about what she wants, with regards to me, at least, and - "

"And what?"

"And, now that she is, I don't know if _I'm_ ready for just _how_ sure she is."

"I'm not sure I'm following."

I sigh. "Quinn and I have - we've - " I pause. "She's my girlfriend." I feel breathless just saying it. "And I am definitely, helplessly and unequivocally in love with her."

He breathes out. "And, how long has this been going on?"

I check my watch. "About thirteen hours," I tell him. "And I'm already screwing it up."

"How so?"

"I don't know how to do this," I say. "I mean, I've never really been in a relationship where I care more about the other person than I do myself, and I don't know how I'm supposed to act, or what I'm supposed to do, and I don't know how I'm supposed to learn all of that by _doing_ because it's all behind closed doors. It's all just so new and Quinn just seems to have it all figured out and I'm just - "

"Sweetheart," he interrupts gently. "Don't you think this is all so new to Quinn too?" he asks.

"But she's - "

"Seemingly handling it better? Successfully hiding her fears from you? Terrified you're having second thoughts? Worried that she's finally put herself out there since her breakup with Finn and is now possibly facing rejection? Confused as to why the one person she's s - "

"Okay," I suddenly say, needing him to stop. "I get it."

He sighs. "I don't think Quinn has it all figured out, and I'm sure you don't think that either. It's new to both of you and I wish the two of you had sat down with us to talk it through."

"It was late last night," I defend. " _And_ we had school this morning."

"Well, we should schedule a time to discuss it then."

"If she ever talks to me again."

"She will," he says. "You're Rachel Berry; of course she will."

"I'm Rachel Berry," I echo. "I'm Rachel Berry."

"Uh..."

"I have to go," I say. "Thanks, Dad." I hang up, hop off the counter and leave the bathroom. I head straight to the library, sit down at a computer and search for what I need. I print out the required sheets and then go to the choir room to practice. I'm Rachel Berry. Singing is what I do.

I can barely sit still through my last periods of the day. My leg is bouncing and my eyes are shifty. I have to endure words I'm not hearing, and then I have to wait for Glee to start. I sit in my chair and worry that Quinn won't sit next to me when she arrives.

She does, just after giving me a small smile. I'm fully aware that she doesn't look at me as Mr Schuester explains this week's assignment and invites us to discuss song choices and plan our dance numbers.

I wait mere minutes before I raise my hand. "Mr Schue?"

He looks my way. "Yes, Rachel?"

"I'd like to perform a song, if that's all right?" I ask, and try to ignore the way Quinn stiffens in her seat.

He smiles warmly. "Sure. The floor's yours."

I take a deep breath before I rise to my feet and move towards the piano. I hand over the sheet music I printed during lunch and then step back and compose myself. When I turn to look at the club, my heart beats a little fast. I can feel Quinn's eyes on me and I chance a look at her - hazel eyes penetrate mine in the most demanding way - which is both a mistake and all the encouragement I need to open my mouth and start singing Fun.'s _We Are Young_.

" _Give me a second I, I need to get my story straight. My friends are in the bathroom getting higher than the Empire State. My lover she's waiting for me just across the bar. My seat's been taken by some sunglasses asking 'bout a scar, and I know I gave it to you months ago. I know you're trying to forget but between the drinks and subtle things. The holes in my apologies, you know. I'm trying hard to take it back. So, if by the time the bar closes, and you feel like falling down. I'll carry you home..._ " I take a breath, wondering if Quinn recognises this as an apology. I reason I should've made it clearer. " _Toni-ight. We are young. So, let's set the world on fire. We can burn brighter than the sun. Toni-ight. We are young. So, let's set the world on fire. We can burn brighter than the sun_."

Brittany gets to her feet and starts waving her hands in the air. It prompts Kurt, Blaine and Mercedes to do the same, and I go into the second verse with another quick look at Quinn, who is gripping Santana's hand tightly, both girls with their eyes on me.

" _Now I know that I'm not all that you got. I guess that I, I just thought maybe we could find new ways to fall apart, but our friends are back. So, let's raise a toast 'cause I found someone to carry me home_." Several voices join me when I get to the chorus. " _Toni-ight. We are young. So, let's set the world on fire. We can burn brighter than the sun. Toni-ight. We are young. So, let's set the world on fire. We can burn brighter than the sun_."

Kurt and Blaine lead the underlying harmony as I sing the words, slowly being joined in by practically everyone.

" _Carry me home tonight (Nananananana). Just carry me home tonight (Nananananana). Carry me home tonight (Nananananana). Just carry me home tonight. (Nananananana)_." I grin when I spy Quinn smiling. She's actually smiling. " _The moon is on my side (Nananananana). I have no reason to run (Nananananana). So, will someone come and carry me home tonight (Nananananana). The angels never arrived (Nananananana). But I can hear the choir (Nananananana). So, will someone come and carry me home (Nananananana)_."

The music drops to just a drum beat, and my heart is thundering right along with it. " _Toni-ight. We are young. So, let's set the world on fire. We can burn brighter than the sun. Toni-ight. We are young. So, let's set the world on fire. We can burn brighter than the sun_." I lower my voice, the room falling to silence save for Brad's piano notes. I don't even shy away from the fact I'm looking at Quinn when I sing the last few lines. She needs to know this song is for her. " _So, if by the time the bar closes, and you feel like falling down... I'll carry you home tonight_."

The room erupts in applause and I get a clap on the back from Mr Schuester before heading back to my seat. Quinn gives me one of those faint smiles as I sit down, but she says nothing. I don't know what I expect, but what I don't anticipate is Quinn standing up and leaving without a word when Mr Schuester finally dismisses us. I just stay seated, unsure how I feel.

When a shadow looms over me, I hesitantly look up to see Brittany looking worriedly at me. "We have a Cheerios meeting," she says, as if it's all the explanation I need. And I suppose it is.

"Did she tell you?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Q doesn't tell me anything. Her face does."

I just nod because Brittany has this way of just _knowing_ , and I've stop wondering.

"Make her some bacon," she says. "It always makes her happy."

I just nod again, and then watch as she bounces out of the choir room, leaving me to my thoughts. This has been the longest day, and I have a feeling it's going to get longer. When I finally convince myself to stand, I head to my locker to gather my things and then go home. I drive in silence. I feel as if I'm in mourning.

My Dad is in the living room when I enter the house and I'm so relieved to see him. I drop my bag to the floor with a thud and move towards him, collapsing onto the couch beside him and letting out a long-suffering sigh. This day has had so many highs and lows, and I'm exhausted.

"So," he finally says, looking at me; "how was school?"

I burst out into wild laughter, which turns into tears rather quickly. He wraps an arm around me and I tuck into his side, trying and failing not to feel sorry for myself. He just lets me cry until I've exhausted all my tears. "What do I do?" I eventually ask him.

"I would say catch a nap," he offers and I glare at him. He smiles innocently. "It's okay to be scared, Sweetheart," he says. "It's okay to be unsure as well. Everything you're feeling; you're entitled to feel it. In fact, it would be weirder if you weren't feeling all these things." He takes a breath. "What isn't okay, however, is forgetting that you're not the only one dealing with this now."

My nostrils flare in irritation with myself. "She hasn't said a word to me all afternoon," I tell him. "I think we're over before we've even begun."

"Oh, I think you need to give yourselves more credit. I'm sure you two will work it out," he says, and he sounds so certain that I frown at him. Oh. _Oh_.

"She called you, didn't she?"

He nods. "It's the reason I came home to meet you. She mentioned that you might need someone to talk to when you get home."

I bury my face in my hands and groan. "I was so... weird... today... why is she so nice?"

"She cares about you, Sweetheart," he says. "She cares about you a lot."

I drop my gaze.

"Sweetie, is _that_ the part that scares you?"

I sigh. "Everything _feels_ intense," I tell him. "It feels like we're deciding on _forever_. Isn't that - I mean - " I stop, shaking my head. "Is it weird that I think this is it? _She_ is it. And, I mean, I'm only eighteen, right? I shouldn't be feeling this, right? Aren't I too young to _know_?"

He blinks. "I wouldn't know," he says. "But I wasn't much older than you when I met your father."

"And did you know then?"

"No," he answers. "But, when I did figure it out, I didn't run from it."

I instantly deflate. Well. Apparently, it's my turn to do the running. Why do we keep running from each other? "Thank you, Dad."

He kisses my forehead. "I don't know if I helped with anything, but I _do_ have to get back to my office. I have a faculty meeting." He regards me for a moment. "Will you be all right for dinner?"

I nod numbly, nibbling at my bottom lip. I get another hug, and then he gets up, grabs his briefcase and keys and then leaves. I wait only a minute before I'm reaching for my phone.

 **Berry: It's not that I'm not sure. I AM sure. That's the part that scares me.** **I'm sorry I made you doubt me. Please can we talk? Text me when you're free.**

I set my phone down and try not to look at it every five seconds. I go to my room to try to work on my homework, but I give up on that pretty quickly and go to the kitchen to get a snack. Or just get started on dinner. Maybe I'll order in. Anything to keep myself distracted.

For now, I'll settle for some toast. I drop two slices of bread into the toaster and wait. I think it's a good thing my dads aren't home because I'm in a terrible mood, equal parts sulky and snappy. When the toast pops out, I immediately reach for it, burning my fingers in the process.

"Ouch!" I hiss, snatching my hand away and biting my bottom lip to stop myself from cursing. "Ouch. Ouch."

The sound of the front door opening and closing immediately silences me and puts me on edge. My dads aren't scheduled to be home for a while, and I'm _sure_ I heard my Dad lock the door when he left. I'm about to grab for a knife - not sure what I'll do with it - when the culprit moves into view and my breath catches in my throat.

Quinn Fabray is standing in the kitchen doorway, having changed into jeans, a white top and a yellow peacoat.

Neither of us says a word.

I breathe out.

A beat later, her gaze meets mine, and the great big world disappears all around us. She closes the space between us in four long strides, backs me up against the kitchen counter and _kisses me_. It's unlike anything I've ever experienced. I've been kissed before. Hell, I've been kissed by _Quinn_ before, but it's never felt like this. It's like an assault to the senses: her lips, tongue and teeth, just bombarding my _everything_. Her body presses hard against mine, and I feel her _everywhere_.

Desperately needing some respite, I pull back and look at her face. She's flushed and her lips are pink and swollen. "What are you doing here?" I ask breathlessly, clutching onto her arms as if I'll fall to the ground if I don't.

"Would you rather I leave?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.

I slip my hand around the nape of her neck and pull her back into another bruising kiss. "God, no."


	15. fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _and i heard her say,  
_ _'you_ _are afraid of love.  
_ _but_ _love is not afraid of you.'_

 _._

"We should go to my room."

I don't think I've heard a better set of words strung together in my entire life. Somehow, I manage to step back and suck in air that doesn't smell like her - it rather smells like toast, really. My head is swimming and I feel a little dizzy. _Drunk_. I feel drunk on Rachel Berry.

Rachel takes hold of my hand and leads the way out of the kitchen, abandoning her toast. I imagine I taste better. When we get to her room, she stands awkwardly, her eyes darting about. Today has been a rollercoaster of a day and I don't even know what I'm supposed to say to her. We _should_ talk; I know we should.

But.

I glance at her, take note of the way she's trapped her bottom lip between her teeth, and -

My lips are on hers a beat later, my left hand finding its way into her silky hair. It's a steady kiss, a little hesitant... until it just isn't anymore. My tongue flicks against her lower lip, her mouth opening at the action, and I slip inside. She lets out what can be described as a whimper when my tongue slides against hers. My brain is swarming with _everything_ , and it's making it difficult to concentrate on anything other than _her_.

With my hand in her hair, I guide the kiss, changing the angle with a slight tilt of my head. She sighs into my mouth, her breathing laboured and intense. My other hand drifts to her hip, fingers curling around the fabric there and tugging her closer, right _into_ me. Everything about this kiss is just _more_ and, given her reaction to the kiss in the kitchen, I'm convinced this one might actually break her.

My hand at her hip trails up her side and around to her collarbone. My lips leave hers for a moment - I desperately suck in a breath - and then they're back. The same hand slides back down to her hip, around and then up her back, bringing her impossibly closer and claiming her.

I can't even breathe. I think I would be content to die like this, truly. Her hands, casually resting at my waist, are moving now. It seems she wants to _touch_ as well. I feel them move upwards, one grasping at my shoulder and the other threading into my hair. I let out a groan that she echoes, right into my mouth. She grips my shoulder tighter, the fabric of my coat balling in her fist when I tease her bottom lip with my teeth, even softly biting down.

It's too much. All of it. My ears are pounding; my heart is beating a mile a minute. It's too overwhelming, and I never want it to stop.

But it does.

She pulls away suddenly, her gaze meeting mine. "We should talk."

I take a breath. "Are you tired?" I ask. "You're being awfully bossy."

"We both know I'd much rather be kissing you, but we really should talk," she says seriously. "There are a few things I have to tell you."

I step back. "Okay," I say, nodding in agreement before moving to sit in her desk chair and taking off my coat. Somehow, I just know sitting on her bed _with her_ won't result in a very productive conversation.

Rachel moves to sit down on her bed, crosses her legs and gives me her full attention. "First, I'm so happy you're here," she says, smiling warmly. "Second, I am so sorry about the way I acted today. Everything was so good, and then I got a little lost in my own head. I think - I think _this_ was my freakout, and I'm sorry I wasn't able to warn you about it beforehand." She presses her lips together for a moment. "I like you, Quinn. I _really_ like you, and it terrifies me just how much. I don't know if we're worried about the same things, but we're both scared of something."

I merely nod.

"I want to be with you, Quinn. In every way. As your school friend, your _best_ friend, your secret girlfriend, your - your lover, your protecter, your - "

"Rachel," I say, squirming in my seat. "If you're trying to keep me in this seat, you're going to have to censor your words there."

She blushes. "Right, sorry," she says. "Uh... where was I?"

"You want to be with me. In every way."

She nods. "I've never been in a serious relationship before," she says conversationally. "I mean, this is a serious relationship, right?"

"As a heart attack."

"Good," she says. "Just so we're on the same page about it."

"We definitely are," I assure her.

"Good, because I'm not with you for fun," she says. "I'm not with you to waste time, Quinn. This is a big deal for me, and I know it's not going to be easy. We're both girls in Lima, Ohio, and we're keeping it secret because we _know_ what it can be like to be openly gay. We're not Santana and Brittany. The scrutiny will be _more_ because of our respective families, and, as much as I'd like to be out and proud and be able to get kissed by you in the school corridors, I think we'll have to wait until we're out of this place." She pauses. "I assume we'll still be together at the end of the year."

"We will."

Her blush is back. "I want to _build_ something with you. I want to learn with you and grow with you. We're working towards something, right? I'm not the only one who thinks that, right?"

I take in a deep breath and then release it slowly. "You're not the only one, Rachel," I tell her.

"And I _know_ we're only in high school," she continues. "We're young and we're just starting out, but it's different with us."

"Because we're girls?"

"Because we're girls, yes," she says; " _and_ because I love you, Quinn."

My mouth drops open, shocked.

"I'm _in_ love with you."

I just stare at her.

She stares back.

A few seconds of silence pass, and then I'm launching myself at her. My body collides with hers, knocking her onto her back as I crawl over her, practically straddling her. She just manages to breathe out, before I'm kissing the next words right out of her mouth. I think I just need her to stop talking right now and the only way I can think to do that - besides feeding her food - is kissing her. Because now I _can_. So, I do. I kiss her for all she's worth, my tongue learning the shape of her mouth. It's a hard, passionate kiss and Rachel is moaning and sighing and squirming beneath me within seconds.

And that's exactly how LeRoy finds us.

* * *

"Okay."

I don't dare look at Rachel, even though her hand is in mine and resting on the top of my thigh under the kitchen table. Her fingers occasionally squeeze mine in encouragement, but I'm distinctly aware of the fact that I'm _still_ blushing. It's been at least ninety minutes since LeRoy knocked on Rachel's door - during which we've prepared dinner and done homework at the kitchen table - and opened it to find me practically mauling his daughter. He was very calm about it, but it was clear he was surprised from his raised eyebrows.

I practically flew across the room to get away from Rachel, and the brunette just giggled and greeted LeRoy with her flushed cheeks and swollen lips as if _nothing was wrong_. She was so calm. In fact, she still is. Apparently, Hiram called LeRoy to inform him that he would need to check on Rachel as soon as he got home, which is the reason he came looking. He was expecting his daughter to be _feeling_ down, not being _pinned_ down.

"So, you're together?" LeRoy prompts, even as he shuffles a forkful of food into his mouth.

Rachel nods.

"For how long has this been going on?"

Rachel checks her wristwatch. "We're coming on twenty hours," she informs him.

LeRoy looks at me. "So, when you arrived last night, frantic and determined...?"

All I can do is nod.

"And you're together _together_?"

I'm the one to nod this time. "We're dating." I falter. "Um, well, we haven't gone on an official date yet but, yes, we're together _together_." I look at Rachel, leaning into her slightly and whispering, "We should go on a date."

She beams at me and then leans forward to kiss the corner of my mouth. "Definitely."

If I weren't already blushing, I would be now. She just kissed me in front of her fathers. What is she trying to do? Why is she so at ease? I can't look at any of them as I sit back and try not to panic. After a minute, I hear laughter, and I have to look up. All three members of the Berry family are looking at me, clearly amused.

"I think it's a record," Hiram says. "For how long have you been blushing, Quinn?"

I frown. "Are you seriously laughing at me right now? All of you? LeRoy? Hiram? Why?"

Rachel giggles. "Isn't she just so cute?"

"She truly is," Hiram agrees.

If it were possible, I blush more and my heart rate rises. I don't understand. Why aren't they saying _things_? What am I doing still sitting here, just casually having dinner with them as if nothing is amiss? "Are you really both okay with this?" I ask quietly. "You're - you're not mad?"

The laughter stops abruptly. "Oh, Honey," Hiram says. "Of course we're okay with this. We're definitely not mad."

"Though, we may have to discuss an open door policy now that you're no longer just friends," LeRoy says, attempting a joke that doesn't quite hit home with me. This is all just so foreign to me. I was just friends with Rachel, and my mother was ready to have me castrated. And here I am, just after being caught making out with Rachel, and they all seem _fine_.

If I'm being honest, I was expecting to be kicked out. Maybe they can read it on my face, because now the smiles are gone as well. I nibble at my bottom lip until Rachel's fingers gently pry it loose and she looks at me.

"Hey," she soothes. "Don't be nervous, okay? You and I, we're safe here."

Hiram nods. "We're a very progressive household, Quinn," he says. "I already told you, whatever happens, _whoever_ you turn out to be, you're ours. You will always be welcome here. And, truly, the fact that you can make my daughter smile like _that_ is a bonus."

I look at Rachel and, indeed, she is smiling one of her gold star smiles. It's dazzling and blinding and I definitely want to kiss her right now. "Is this real life?" I whisper.

"Oh, baby," she breathes, her fingers squeezing mine again. "It's better."

Because it is. It's _so much_ better.

LeRoy clears his throat and we snap to attention. He smiles gently, knowingly. "We do need to talk about this though," he says. "What are your plans?"

"Plans?" Rachel asks, confused.

"Do you intend to... come out?"

I let out a breath. "No," I answer for both of us. "We're not going to do that."

LeRoy nods. "And that's a decision you've _both_ made?"

Rachel answers this time. "We have, yes," she says. "As proud as I am, we've seen what it's like to be out in this town. We've seen Kurt struggle in school, and it's only now that Blaine is around that things have settled. We've seen _you two_ deal with all the prejudice and vandalism. I mean, Daddy, you even had to switch more to administrative work at the hospital because people complained about your treating them." She shakes her head. "I am proud of you both, of course, but I don't think we're ready for that. Without even considering the backlash from Quinn's church, we _are_ the Head Cheerleader and a Theatre Geek, which will probably turn our school upside down and inside out. The fact that we're friends has already caused enough of a stir.

"Quinn is also, definitely, the most sought after girl in school, for obvious reasons," she adds, casually waving her free hand in my general direction, and my blush grows. "We want to wait. It's better and easier if we wait. For how long, I'm not sure, but I'm perfectly fine with keeping the extent of our relationship under wraps." She looks at me. "That is what we decided, right?"

I nod. "It is."

Hiram's eyes are on me. "How are you feeling, Quinn?"

"It's definitely been an emotional few days," I tell him. I've decided the truth is the way to go. "My mother had a few things to say to me on Thursday night, which caused me to..." I trail off. "I freaked out, I guess, and I did things I'm not proud of. I definitely still have to make up for them. I just - uh, she was saying things about how the church was already disapproving of my friendship with Rachel and how I should be careful. She mentioned my father, which she knows is a sure way to get me to go off the railings, and - " I stop.

"And what?" he presses.

I gulp, gripping Rachel's hand tighter. "She may have alluded to possibly kicking me out again if I _were_ to continue down this path with Rachel," I say, practically whispering; "before she told me that _I_ , essentially, meant nothing to her." If my words weren't so heartbreaking, I think I would find their collective reactions particularly amusing. Rachel gasps, Hiram's hand goes to his chest and LeRoy's mouth drops open in shock.

Before I know what's happening, Rachel's arms are around me, and then Hiram's and LeRoy's, and I'm buried in a Berry hug that _breaks me_. I cry for the indifference of my biological family and I cry for the love of this new family. My body shakes from my sobs, my tears streaming down my cheeks, and Rachel's arms tighten around me, her lips pressed to my ear as she repeatedly tells me she loves me. Over and over again, like a mantra. _I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you._

And it's enough. It's more than enough. Before, I had only Finn, but now I have an entire family, and I love them. I love them all. Eventually, the hug ends and LeRoy and Hiram return to their seats. Rachel holds on that bit longer, and I love her too. I do. I'm just -

Rachel's fingers wipe at my tears and she smiles through her own.

"I feel like I'm always crying when I'm with you," I whisper.

She just kisses my cheek and pulls back. Somehow, we settle into our dinner again and Rachel fills the silence with a story about how she's convinced her Trigonometry teacher hates her. I laugh, feeling the tension in my shoulders lessen. It helps that Rachel's hand finds its way to my knee on occasion, gently squeezing and giving me silent support.

It's near the end, when there's little food left on everyone's plates, that LeRoy addresses my confession for the first time. He sits up straight, steeples his fingers against his chin and meets my gaze with all the kindness and understanding in the world. "Quinn, Honey, do I need to remind you that you'll always have a place here with us?"

I shake my head.

"This is a home to you," he continues. "Please, please never forget."

I wipe at my eyes.

"The truth is that not everyone is accepting of the life we lead," he says. "We've faced prejudice, yes, and people have their assumptions and opinions about us. Finding acceptance in a place like Lima is difficult and, if I'm being honest, I don't want either of you to have to go through even half of what we've had to endure just in our choice to love whomever we want openly. Hiram and I have chosen to live here, but you two are meant for so much more, aren't you?"

I glance at Rachel. _She_ definitely is. I'm not so sure about myself.

"The good thing is that you both have time," he says. "I know this all seems like the entire world, but you have time to figure things out and enjoy each other and this time together. We're here for both of you whatever you need. I know it doesn't look it, but we _have_ been where you are. We _were_ once teenagers, believe it or not."

Rachel lets out a small laugh, which eases some of the heaviness of the conversation.

"We know that every little thing that happens can feel like the end of the world. We know how overwhelming feelings can be. We have experience, and we can help."

Rachel just nods.

"Quinn?"

My eyes snap up to look at him. "Hmm?"

"You do not mean nothing," he says, strongly and clearly. "You are not nothing. Do you hear me?"

I nod numbly.

"I don't know your mother and, for obvious reasons, I think it's best that I never meet her. Sometimes, people say things. I don't know what her intention was telling you all these things, but I need you to believe me - us - that you do not mean nothing."

I swallow audibly.

"In fact, I would hazard a guess that you mean a hell of a lot to many people, including me."

"And me," Hiram says.

"Definitely me," Rachel adds barely a beat later, and I can't resist a faint smile. "And Santana and Brittany and all of Glee. Mr Schue, the Cheerios, even Sue Sylvester, I'm sure."

I giggle despite myself.

"I'm sure there are many I haven't even mentioned," Rachel says, and her hand drops to my knee again, squeezing lightly.

The lightness is back now, and dinner finishes with little more incident. Rachel and I go into the kitchen to do the dishes, she's washing and I'm drying. It doesn't take her long to get soap _everywhere_. On her clothes, and then on mine. She actually takes suds and touches my cheek. I kiss her because I can. I'm allowed to. In this house, I can be open with my touches and my happiness, and there's a part of me that never wants to leave.

But I have to. After Rachel and I work on her homework - which is really just a glorified make-out session - I have to go home and do mine. I didn't come to her house with anything other than the goal of letting her _fix us_. I have to go to my house, and she pouts adorably when I bring it up. She climbs on top of me, pinning me to her bed to stop me from leaving.

"Plans for tomorrow?" she asks, her breath washing over me.

Even if she wasn't winding me slightly, I'm sure I would still be breathless. I pretend to give it some thought. "Try to survive the day without bursting into tears, kiss you whenever I can and figure out a way to ask you out on a date in a decidedly more romantic way than I did at the dinner table." When I finish, I'm awarded with a firm kiss and a bite to my bottom lip before she finally rolls off me and gets off the bed.

It takes me a moment to get my bearings, and then she walks me out to my car, her hand in mine. She's so beautiful in the moonlight and I can't look away from her face even if I try. I don't want to, though, and I love that I don't have to.

We come to a stop at my driver's door and she slips her other hand into mine. I've always wondered what she sees when she looks at me. There's so much affection in her gaze that my heart hurts a little, and then a lot. It's so much. It makes me feel _so much_. I love her. I truly do.

I open my mouth to tell her. "I - " I hesitate. "I should go," I say, internally cringing.

Her smile dims for a moment, maybe from confusion, but she still nods, rocks forward and places a chaste kiss to my lips. "Drive safely," she says. "Text me when you get home."

I don't say another word as I get into my car and turn the key. I know if I open my mouth again tonight while in her presence, I'll say those three words I don't think I'm ready to say. Regardless of whether or not I feel them, I won't say them. They'd given her too much power, and I'm not yet ready to give in yet.

She's still standing there when I pull out of the driveway, and I watch her still form in the rearview mirror as I drive away.

 _I love you_. _I love you_. _I love you_. _I love you_.

* * *

Tuesday, thankfully, is less stressful. Well, when it comes to Rachel, that is. I think our talk helped because she seems more settled. Happy, sure, but settled as well. Despite the fact we're expected to play certain roles at school, I think we're doing well. I refrain from bombarding her phone with my non-PC texts - or any texts for that matter besides the one letting her know I arrived at my house in one piece. I've left that part in her hands. If she wants to open up _that_ form of communication again, I'm all for it.

Santana's teasing is surprisingly mild. I expected a dog and pony show after Rachel and I barely survived our first day as official girlfriends. Maybe she's sympathetic to 'gay panic,' as she refers to it. It's an adjustment, as Rachel says, and it's going to take some time for us to make the transition from friends to _more_.

"Do you think we'll get out of practice before six o'clock?" Santana asks, as we pack up our things at the end of the period before lunch. "Dad is receiving some award from the hospital tonight and I'd really like to be able to see it."

"I don't actually know," I tell her in sympathy. "I'll try to make it happen, okay? And, if push comes to shove, you could fake an injury, have Britt take you to the ER and then possibly run extra suicides on Thursday."

She grimaces.

"I know," I murmur. "I'm sorry."

She shrugs. "I'm sure it'll be worth it. This is a big deal for him."

"Will you tell him congratulations from me?"

"Of course, Q," she says with the kind of proud smile that I don't think would ever exist on my face when it comes to my parents. It's foreign to me and, yes, I feel a flash of envy, but it dissipates quite quickly. I'm proud of Dr Lopez too. I mean, I may not have the perfect life, but at least I have people who care about me. And, as soon as Santana leaves me to find her girlfriend; another one of those people moves into view and I automatically smile at the sight of _my_ girlfriend.

Which slips from my face the moment I notice the person talking to her. Finn. I'm tempted to walk straight towards them and demand to know what's going on but the determined look on Rachel's face stops me. She's standing at her own locker, Finn's form towering over her, but she's never looked taller; never looked brighter. She's the epitome of wonderful, really, and I count my lucky stars she's chosen _me_.

Realising that Rachel Berry is extremely capable of holding her own, I go to my locker to drop off my books. I've just set down my World History textbook when I feel a presence at my side. I don't even have to look to know it's her - she's avoided startling me since the locker incident - and I turn my head to find her smiling at me. She looks a bit thoughtful, which must be to do with whatever she and Finn were talking about.

"Hi," I breathe, closing my locker and turning my body to face her fully.

"Hello," she says brightly.

"Cafeteria?"

She slips her arm through my offered one, and we make our way to our destination in relative silence, our steps slow and steady. "So," she says after a while; "I have to tell you something."

I glance at her. "I'm listening."

"Well, I got a C on my Trigonometry quiz."

I raise my eyebrows. "What?" I ask, clearly not expecting that. "Wait. What?"

"I know," she says, looking distraught. "I don't even know what happened. It was just that we had a lot going on that week and I - "

"Rachel," I interrupt. "It's just one quiz," I try to soothe. "We'll work on it tonight, okay? I'm sure you'll be able to make it up by the end of the semester."

She perks up. "Tonight?"

I want to facepalm. "I actually don't know," I admit. "Sylvester's in a bit of a mood this week, and I may or may not have to pull some stunts to get Santana out of practice before six tonight. So, it's either we _all_ get out, or _I_ end up with extra laps to run if she ever finds out."

She huffs. "I think the anxiety of being a Cheerio would kill me," she admits. "I don't know how you do it."

"I know it sounds insane, but I really do enjoy it," I confess, laughing lightly at the horrified look she gives me. "I mean, if you can forget about the sadistic nature of our coach, the dangerous competition for places and the general tendency to be worked so hard you pass out; I like the fact it gives me purpose. Before, I was a cheerleader for reasons I'm not proud of, but now I do it because I enjoy it. I like the challenge, being pushed to be better. I also, I guess, like the control. And lack of control. There's something incredibly freeing about being thrown into the air and just _being_."

She looks scandalised. "I can't even watch when you're flying," she says, rubbing her nose against my shoulder for a moment. "It gives me heart palpitations."

I glance at her. "You worry about me."

"I do worry about you," she says. "I don't know if you've noticed but you _are_ prone to injuring yourself."

"Hey," I say, poking her in the ribs. "Not everything is my fault."

She squirms. "Regardless, I worry about you, Fabray."

"Because somebody has to," I say, winking.

She stops suddenly, forcing me to halt as well. "Quinn Fabray," she says quietly. "There are lots of people who worry about you."

"That may be so, but you're the most important."

"Indeed, I am."

I want to kiss her so badly, which is the reason I pull her into an empty classroom, drag her into a corner and press my lips to hers. It's a quick one, just to get us both through the rest of the day, but it still leaves us both breathless. I can't stop touching her so I keep my body pressed against hers even when I end the kiss.

"I have to tell you something else," she says, the fingers of her right hand trailing fire over the back of my neck. I kiss her cheek in response, prompting her to keep going. "It's about Finn." I tense automatically, but I still kiss her other cheek. "I think - I think he suspects something."

I blink, stepping back. "What?"

"Not between _us_ , no," she clarifies. "But, you. It's become increasingly apparent to me that he's been keeping a close eye on you, for whatever reason. And, because he knows you as well as he does, he can tell that something's different, and he wasn't afraid to ask _me_ if there was somebody new in your life."

"Why would he care?"

"I asked him that," she tells me. "He claims he doesn't. He just doesn't want you to end up with a loser."

I raise my eyebrows, reading the expression on her face. "Rachel Berry, please don't even be thinking what I think you're thinking," I say, strongly. "You are not a loser at all. You're perfect, kind, smart and funny, and Finn is just trying to - shit, I don't even know what he's trying to do."

This time, she kisses _me_ , and we spend a few minutes trying to outdo each other. Her tongue is relentless, and she wins this battle. I'll get her next time. After a quick check to our appearances, we finally go to the cafeteria, join the food line that doesn't quite exist anymore, and then separate to go to our different tables. I absently wonder if there will be a day when we sit together in this stupid school.

Not today.

I slide into my seat next to Santana, set my tray down and do my best to ignore the eyes I now know are on me. Finn's, yes. But Sam's too. Puck's as well, though I don't know why. Quite a few football players, if I'm being honest, and it's putting me on edge. Have they always looked at me like this and I'm just now noticing it? Or is this a new development, based on the assumption I'm still single? Or dating someone? Or, for all I know, this could be the manifestation of Finn's lies to his teammates. It could even be that, now that I said yes to Sam, they all think they stand a legitimate chance.

Before I give myself a headache, I sit back in my chair, ignoring my lunch and turn to look at Santana. "San?"

She pries her eyes away from Brittany and gives me her attention. "What's up?"

My brow furrows. "Is something happening?" I ask.

Her expression matches mine. "What do you mean?"

"Have you been hearing anything around the football team?"

"No," she says, turning her body towards me. "Why? What have _you_ heard?"

"I think I'm being paranoid or something," I say, glancing Finn's way. He's talking to Sam and, after a beat, they both look up at me. Finn looks wounded and Sam just looks curious. What the hell? "I just - I have a feeling."

Santana's eyebrows rise, a smirk on her face. "A _feeling_?"

I gently punch her arm. "I'm just saying maybe if you can keep your ear to the ground, that would be great."

"Did something happen?"

"I thought I was doing a good thing trying to explain why I had to run out of our date to Sam, but I think he's reading too much into it now," I tell her. "And the fact that he's probably discussing me with Finn right now isn't helping."

Santana's features twist into something predatory; her protective instinct kicking in. "Q? What happened?"

"I don't want them asking Rachel about me," I say. "She's uncomfortable with the attention she's receiving from people because _I_ happened to smile too widely or laugh too loudly." I sigh. "I don't understand why _they're_ so worried about the fact that I'm happy."

And now her features soften. "Are you?"

I automatically blush. "I'm trying to be," I whisper. "There are aspects of my life that still need working on but, yeah, I'm _happy_."

Without warning, she wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. It's a little odd. Santana isn't known for her affection for people other than Brittany, let alone in public. We're kind of the same that way, I suppose, which is why I try to duck out of it, squirming, but she just squeezes me tighter.

"You guys are so cute," Brittany says, which prompts my release.

Santana shrugs, her eyes on me. "I'll find out what I can, okay?"

"Thanks, S," I murmur, and take out my phone to text Rachel. I just want to talk to her, Politically Correct and all. This silent texting ban is coming to an end right now.

 _Quinn: Help! Santana just assaulted me!_

Her reply is instant, and I can practically feel her gaze on me.

 **Berry: Shall I call 911?**

 _Quinn: Save me, Berry._

 **Berry: I'm eating.**

I smile to myself, suddenly wary of displaying the fact that there's someone in my life who makes me happier than I ever knew possible.

 _Quinn: So much for being my hero._

And I swear I can hear her cackle all the way from over here.

* * *

When I get to the choir room during lunch on Wednesday, Rachel is already practicing at the piano and I'm forced to pause in the doorway. Just the sight of her takes my breath away, and I wonder how it is I got so lucky. To think that, a little under three months ago, my life was _so_ different. I've thought it a few times, but this is the first time I'm _certain_ that Finn did me the biggest favour when he decided he no longer wanted me.

Because Rachel Berry does, and she isn't afraid for me to know it.

She notices me then, absently glancing over her shoulder and beaming at me. "Hi," she says. "What are you doing in here? I thought you had a meeting with Sylvester."

"Hey," I say, smiling faintly. "I lied about the meeting," I inform her, walking towards her. "I just needed some time to prepare."

She frowns. "Prepare for what?" she asks. "Ooh, are you going to sing in Glee?"

"No," I tell her. "I'm not going to be doing that for a while, given my last experience."

She blushes, ducking her head. "Sorry."

I shrug as I slide onto the piano bench beside her, sitting close to her. "Are you practicing for Mr Schue's proposal?" I ask.

She's smiling again, nodding her head. "Isn't it wonderful?" she asks. "I just love _love_. And it's amazing that he wants to involve us, isn't it?"

I find myself nodding, my eyes on her face. She's so pretty when she's happy and open and present, and she's _mine_. It still amazes me when I think about it. I almost missed out on her, and I just know I have a lot still to make up for, but she's going to let me, and that means all the world to me.

I lift my fingers to the keys but don't play anything. "So, I lied again," I say. "Five seconds ago."

"Oh?"

"I _did_ prepare something," I confess; "but not for Glee. It's for _you_ , and only you."

"Oh?"

I swallow nervously. "Can you scoot a little to the left there?" I ask. "There's something I want to ask you." Without hesitation, she shifts down the bench and waits patiently. I feel smaller under her gaze but I'm ready. I just know she'll appreciate this, because she's ready and she's sure now. As am I.

Slowly, I start to play a slowed piano version of Tegan and Sara's _Closer_ , my voice joining the music after a few bars. " _All I want to get is a little bit closer. All I want to know is, can you come a little closer_?" I hear her breath hitch. " _Here comes the breath before we get a little bit closer. Here comes the rush before we touch, come a little closer. The doors are open, the wind is really blowing. The night sky is changing overhead_."

I'm not sure why, but my heart starts to beat a little faster. " _It's not just all physical. I'm the type who won't get oh so critical. So, let's make things physical. I won't treat you like you're oh so typical. I won't treat you like you're oh so typical._ " I can't help my smile. " _All you think of lately is getting underneath me. All I dream of lately is how to get you underneath me. Here comes the heat before we meet a little bit closer. Here comes the spark before the dark, come a little closer. The lights are off and the sun is finally setting. The night sky is changing overhead_."

I chuckle lightly, starting to enjoy myself a little. " _It's not just all physical. I'm the type who won't get oh so critical. So, let's make things physical. I won't treat you like you're oh so typical_." I bump her shoulder with my own. " _I want you close, I want you. I won't treat you like you're typical. I want you close, I want you. I won't treat you like you're typical. Here come the dreams of you and me. Here come the dreams. Here come the dreams of you and me. Here come the dreams_."

I laugh happily. " _It's not just all physical. I'm the type who won't get oh so critical. So, let's make things physical. I won't treat you like you're oh so typical. I want you close, I want you. I won't treat you like you're typical. I want you close, I want you. I won't treat you like you're typical. I won't treat you like you're typical. I won't treat you like you're typical_." I slow my fingers to an aching pace, turn my eyes on Rachel's teary eyes and breathe the last two lines. " _All I want to get is a little bit closer. All I want to know is, can you come a little closer_?"

When I lift my foot off the pedal, Rachel slides back towards me - coming closer - and slips her arm around my waist. "Oh, Quinn," she whispers. "That was beautiful."

I blush. "Thank you," I murmur before I clear my throat and meet her gaze, losing myself in the chestnut colour of her eyes. "Will you go out on a date with me this Friday evening?" I ask, heat rising up my neck. We're not cheering at a game, and I've never been more relieved.

"I will," she answers immediately, and I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding. Then, she says, "Wait, you aren't actually thinking of getting physical with me, are you? Because I won't go past second base on the first date."

Despite myself, I laugh out loud, dipping my head and kissing the corner of her mouth. "We're going on a date."

Her smile lights up my world. "Yes, baby, we are."

I grin at her. "I like that, by the way."

"What?"

"When you call me 'baby.'"

Her hand slides onto my leg and and she squeezes my thigh. "I like calling you that," she says, her voice oddly husky.

I raise my eyebrows. "Miss Berry, are you actually turned on right now?" I ask, sounding oddly breathless.

She blushes madly. "Hey, it's not my fault I'm a sucker for people singing to me," she confesses. "I find it _very_ attractive, and you're already very pretty. It's actually not even fair."

I don't even know what to say, and her hand on my thigh definitely isn't helping.

She continues speaking, saving me from a response by, essentially, setting off an explosion in my chest. "And, in answer to your question: yes, I am turned on."

I suck in a sharp breath, practically jump to my feet and drag her up with me. "We still have twenty minutes left of our lunch break," I say, somewhat tensely. "I want you in a locked room _right now_."

And, really, she doesn't even protest.


	16. sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _the truth is  
_ _you were born for you.  
_ _you were wanted by you.  
_ _you came for you.  
_ _you are here for you.  
_ _your existence is yours.  
_ _yes._

 _._

We end up leaving Lima for our date. Quinn suggests it late Thursday while we're on the phone, and I agree because I know we'll be freer and more comfortable away from this place. We'll have our date, and walk hand-in-hand without worrying about looking over our shoulders. Without having to keep up appearances.

So, after Glee on Friday and after Mr Schuester successfully proposes to Miss Pillsbury, Quinn goes straight to her house and I go straight home to get ready. I've planned out my outfit already so I just hop in the shower, get dressed and do my makeup. It's been forty-five minutes since I saw her and I'm literally buzzing with anticipation. My dads are using the night to have their own romantic evening, and I'm more than happy to give it to them. I'm going to be having my own romantic adventure anyway.

When I hear the doorbell ring - Quinn insisted on ringing it, even though she has her own key to the house - I jump up and practically fly down the stairs in my excitement. I stop just before the door, take a moment to compose myself, and then open the door.

To nothing.

I frown, stepping forward. "Quinn?" I call out. Still nothing. Not even her car in the driveway. I stick my head out the door and peer left and right. Then down. Oh. There's an envelope on the welcome mat, with the words 'little star' written in my gorgeous girlfriend's handwriting. I jump slightly before bending to pick it up. Within, I find a card with a note written in her perfect script.

 _Rachel Berry,_

 _Today, we're testing your Geography skills (otherwise known as your_ Google _skills.)  
_ _Tell me, exactly how far is Abalone House (the restaurant) from your front door. In miles and in minutes.  
_ _Text me when you have an answer.  
_ _I can't wait to see you._

 _\- Q_

I read the note again before I shut the door and run back upstairs. So much cardio today. When I get to my bedroom, I drop down into my desk chair and open a _Google_ tab, type in what I need, and wait. It doesn't take me long to find the information I need and I quickly shoot it off to Quinn in a text.

A minute later, the doorbell rings again and I make my way back downstairs, slower this time but still eager to see Quinn. Only, when I pull open the door, I'm met with nothing once again. Not even an envelope.

"Quinn?" I call out, getting a little annoyed. I even stomp my foot for good measure. "Quinn Fabray!" I'm fully about to close the door again when I feel two arms slide around my waist from behind and my body immediately relaxes.

 _Quinn_. I practically breathe a sigh of relief as she chuckles near my ear, warm breath against my cheek. "Do you have any idea how cute you are when you rage and pout and just _breathe_?" she murmurs, and I spin in her arms to kiss her. Hard. She even steps back to accommodate the force, and her back hits the wall. She smiles against my mouth and this is turning out to be a great day. She's the one to pull away - or, rather, push me away. "Rachel," she says through a breathy laugh.

"Hi," I whisper back.

She laughs a real laugh, and I marvel at the sound. Gosh, everything about her is just perfect. I'm convinced tonight is the night she reveals to me that she's not a human being, and I'm going on a date with God's gift to mankind. I would believe her, too. I mean, even as I step back and take in her form and her outfit, I would believe her in a heartbeat. I use this time to take in what I can about the _creature_ before me. At school, I don't get to look at her like this - like I want to - but now I do. I can stare at her face and her body for as long as I want and I'm definitely not going to pass up the opportunity.

Kurt was right. Her skin is flawless. It's perfect and pale and it's soft to touch. Her features are sharp and gentle at the same time, and it's moments like these when I think about Quinn's parents. As horrible as they are, they managed to make this glorious person in front of me, who's looking at me curiously now. I love her expressions. They just seem very deliberate, even the ones she's not conscious of. Her nose is - what more can I even say about that nose? She's honestly the prettiest girl I've ever seen, and the more I get to know her; the prettier she gets. It's blinding.

She clears her throat, growing uncomfortable under my scrutiny. "Are you ready to go?" she asks. "We have a bit of a drive ahead of us."

I beam, bouncing slightly. "And I know exactly how long it's going to take."

She laughs. "Yes, you do," she says, pushing herself off the wall. I get a quick kiss before she ushers me out of the house and locks the front door behind us. Can't be too careful in Lima, Ohio. We've been robbed before. Okay, it wasn't exactly a robbery. It was more or less homophobes entering our house with their own prejudices, only to learn that we're so boringly normal. We're even _more_ normal than they are, really. Breaking and entering is a crime. Being gay isn't.

Quinn leads me towards a car that isn't hers and opens the passenger door for me. I have questions - so many questions - but I hold my tongue and just _enjoy_ it. We're barely a few minutes into this date and it's already the best one I've ever been on. It takes me another minute to realise it's solely because this date is with Quinn.

Once she's in the driver's seat, she starts the car - a brand new black _Range Rover_ ; it still has the new car smell - and fiddles with the music. It's obvious she's nervous, even as she slips a CD into the music player that she's obviously burned with specific songs.

"So, I made a CD for you," she says, turning her body to face me. "I timed it exactly, so we'll arrive right in front of the restaurant by the time the last note sounds... provided I follow all the road rules. Which I'm going to do."

"Quinn?"

Her gaze barely manages to meet mine. "Hmm?"

"Are you nervous?"

"Deathly."

"Don't be," I tell her. "I'm already yours, remember? And this is already the best date ever."

She breathes out but makes no comment on what I've said. Instead, she reaches into the console and removes a piece of paper with a list of songs. "This is for you," she says, handing it to me. "You can look at the songlist if you want, or you can just sit there and listen and enjoy it."

"I think I'll do the latter."

She smiles at me in a way that makes me know I made the right decision. "Okay," she says. "Are you ready to go?"

"Definitely."

She presses play on the music and sound fills the car. My face literally splits in half when Colbie Caillat's _Fallin' for You_ comes on and I reach for her hand for a moment. She sends me a small smile, shifts the car into gear, and then we're going. Every time a new song comes on, she glances at me and I return her look with a smile. The fact that she's so worried is adorable, though I don't say so. I'm not sure how she'll react to it right now; she's too nervous. The songs are great. It's clear that she put a lot of thought into this.

We don't talk all that much as she drives, but we do sing along to a few of the songs, and I swear I fall more and more in love with her with every word out of her mouth. Even though I know where we're going, I barely pay attention to anything other than the blonde sitting beside me and the way the songs are making me feel. I feel happy and free and lazy and calm and _I am so in love_.

"Oh, no," she suddenly says.

"What?"

"This is the last song," she says dejectedly; "and we still have eight minutes to go until we reach our destination." She pouts slightly, her brow furrowed, and she's honestly the cutest person I've ever seen. "Was I driving too slowly? No, I did the calculations." She looks borderline distraught. "I should have added a seventeenth song, just in case."

"It's okay," I assure her. "I like this song. We can listen to it twice." Her pout hasn't disappeared, which prompts me to sing the lyrics of Boys Like Girls' _Thunder_ back to her. "... _Your voice was the soundtrack of my summer. Do you know you're unlike any other? You'll always be my thunder, and I said. Your eyes are the brightest of all the colours. I don't wanna ever love another. You'll always be my thunder. So, bring on the rain_."

She grins at me, and then we sing together. " _Yeah, I'm walking on a tightrope. I'm wrapped up in vines. I think we'll make it out, but you just gotta give me time. Strike me down with lightning. Let me feel you in my veins. I wanna let you know how much I feel your pain_."

I reach out and run a hand over her hair, and she leans into my touch. " _Today is a winding road that's taking me to places that I didn't want to go... Whoa..._ " My heart skips a beat when she turns her head and kisses my palm. " _Your voice was the soundtrack of my summer. Do you know you're unlike any other? You'll always be my thunder, and I said. Your eyes are the brightest of all the colors. I don't wanna ever love another. You'll always be my thunder_."

And it's true, isn't it? I don't _want_ to love anyone else.

When the song restarts and we near the restaurant, I finally look at the songlist in my hands.

.

 **Faberry's First Date (The Drive To)**

1\. _Fallin' for You_ \- Colbie Caillat

2\. _All I Want_ \- Kodaline

3\. _Still Into You_ \- Paramore

4\. _Just the Way You Are_ \- Bruno Mars

5\. _Girlfriend_ \- Avril Lavigne

6\. _Crush_ \- David Archuleta

7\. _Teenage Dream_ \- Katy Perry

8\. _Animal_ \- Neon Trees

9\. _You Belong With Me_ \- Taylor Swift

10\. _We Belong Together_ \- Randy Newman

11\. _It's Gonna Be Love_ \- Mandy Moore

12\. _Yellow_ \- Coldplay

13\. _Into You_ \- Ariana Grande

14\. _Bless the Broken Road_ \- Rascal Flatts

15\. _A Thousand Miles_ \- Vanessa Carlton

16\. _Thunder_ \- Boys Like Girls

.

I look at Quinn when she pulls into the parking lot, curious. "Faberry?"

She laughs lightly, with a roll of her eyes. "That's Britt's nickname for us," she tells me. "Fabray and Berry. _Faberry_. She and Santana are apparently Brittana, and I didn't bother to ask why we get surnames and they get first names."

I mull it over. "We would be... Quinchel?"

She giggles. "I think I prefer Faberry." She finds a spot to park, and pulls in. She turns off the engine, smiles at me and then gets out. I wait because she'd want me to, and her beaming smile when she arrives at my door and opens it is definitely worth it. She offers me her hand, which I take, and I practically hop out of the SUV, stumbling into her. It prompts her to wrap her arms around me and press a kiss to my forehead. "For such a dance aficionado, you're awfully clumsy."

I step back. "I'm not clumsy, Quinn. I'm just shorter than most."

She laughs out loud, closing the door behind me.

"And this car is so high," I complain. "Whose is it, by the way?"

She raises her eyebrows. "It's mine."

"Wait. What? Since when?"

"Since my mother decided that Daisy wasn't projecting the correct Fabray image," she says, all casual when I'm totally horrified. "Also, she might have mentioned that this is incentive to, once again, alter my path when it comes to my relationship with you."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not a big deal," she says, slipping her hand into mine and attempting to lead the way to the restaurant.

I don't move. "It's not a _big deal_?" I ask, incredulously. "Quinn. Stop trying to walk away. Talk to me." I notice her jaw clench. "Tell me what happened."

She turns to look at me, and everything about her is tense, closed off. She waits, and I wait. I won't break. She'll tell me; I know she will. "The car was in the driveway when I got home," she eventually says, deflating right in front of me. "I didn't really get much time to figure out what was happening when a man was taking Daisy's keys and substituting them with these new ones." She grinds her teeth. "I went into the house to find out what was happening and why. We fought. She said things. I listened and, when I went back outside, Daisy was gone and all my stuff was on the front lawn."

She releases my hand and grips the fabric of her lapels of her coat in both her fists. "I know I should have told you, but I don't want to ruin tonight, okay? What's done is done, Rachel, and there's nothing I can say or do about it. If I don't drive this car, then I have no way to get around. She owns me, and she knows it." She steps back and shakes her head. "Can we talk about this another time? I don't want her to ruin our night. I want to forget that there's this whole entire world that I have to deal with. I just - I just want to be with you without worrying about any of that. It's why we drove all the way out here. Please?"

The look in her eyes makes me give in and I wrap my arms around her, pressing my face into the crook of her neck and breathing in deeply. I would tell her I love her but I haven't said the words again since that first night. Monday night. It feels like a lifetime ago, really, but it's been five days of no returned sentiments from her. It's not that I _expect_ her to say it back. I'm aware that people feel and express love in different ways, which is why I've decided not to overwhelm her with just how often I _feel_ enough to tell her I love her. It's often, and it's a lot.

Abalone House is as close to perfect as Quinn is. It's... quaint. I love the mismatched furniture, dim lighting and quiet Indie music playing in the background. We sit at a table in the back, close enough to each other that I could just lean forward a few inches and we would be sharing air. Our server, Jen, smiles knowingly at us and hands over our menus. Quinn ducks her head immediately, and I just smile at Jen. If I thought Quinn was embarrassed, the fact that she kisses my cheek as soon as Jen is gone changes that.

"They have a vegan section," she says, her eyes scanning the menu. " _And_ an exclusively bacon section."

I shake my head. "I should let you know that I won't let your mouth anywhere near any part of my body if you eat bacon."

She looks scandalised. "Seriously?"

I nod.

She leans forward. " _Any_ part of your body?"

I gulp. "Well, you _do_ have something of an obsession with my neck," I tell her. "I'm going to have to stock up on concealer, given the way your teeth gravitate to this general area." I gesture vaguely to the side of my neck.

"It's because you taste delicious."

I squirm in my seat. _Jesus_. I drop my gaze to read through the menu, looking at the specials and trying my best not to look at Quinn and her truly dangerous - and second -smirk. She's halfway to the - fifth - playful and the - eighth - mischievous smiles. So, it takes me a moment to calm again, and then we absently discuss what we're going to order. Jen comes back to take our drink order, and then our food order moments later.

Quinn levels her gaze on me, leans forward, and I don't think she looks away from me _all evening_. We talk about nonsensical things, like the weirdest way to open a cereal box: via guillotine or with a weed whacker; or what's the best way to deal with Thanksgiving dinner leftovers: turkey tacos, Thanksgiving pizza with a cream cheese base sauce and donuts made of stuffing with gravy icing. Quinn is rather creative, apparently. We talk right through Jen's return with our food and through the actual eating. After the initial comments on our meals, I don't even notice what I'm eating. It's just Quinn. Everything is Quinn.

We decide to share a dessert; vegan red velvet cheesecake. It tastes as good as it sounds, truly, and the sounds coming from Quinn make me shift in my seat, desperate to crawl into her skin. I want to get closer to her, but then I know I shouldn't. It should be illegal for a person who looks like Quinn, who has a mouth like Quinn's, to use a spoon. Really. Who invented spoons? Is this girl even human?

"This is the greatest thing I've ever eaten," she says, licking her spoon. "We _have_ to get the recipe. LeRoy is going to go crazy for it." She goes in for another bite and wraps her mouth around the spoon, her teeth scraping along the metal before her tongue cleans its curve. When she licks her lips and lets out a low moan, I can't take it anymore and grab the spoon right out of her hand. "What the - " She looks adorably confused.

"You have a weigh-in on Thursday," I say, but it comes out in a husk, and she catches on immediately.

Confusion turns into a mixture of flirty and mischievous, and I just know I'm in for it. "Rachel, give me back my spoon," she says calmly.

"No."

"I will leave you here."

"You wouldn't."

She raises her eyebrows. "If you don't give me back my spoon, I _will_ use my fingers instead," she says, and gives me a significant look. Oh. _Oh_.

I give her back her spoon immediately, and she smiles smugly. "I hate you."

"You love me."

I breathe out. "I do. I really do."

Her movements still for a beat, and then she leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to my lips. It's bold, and I know it's a deflection. She kissed me the last time I alluded to the depth of my feelings. It's why I told myself I wouldn't bring it up. And yet... I just can't help it. Granted, she helped.

Quinn pulls back, nervously looks around, seems satisfied and then continues with dessert. I just let it go because _she kissed me in public_. We'll have to talk about this at some point but tonight is not the night. Tonight, I'm just going to bask in the fact that _she kissed me in public_. This is amazing. Quinn is amazing.

When the check arrives, I don't put up a fight. It's _her_ date. When we're leaving, Jen wishes us well, tells us we're a cute couple and that she can't wait to tell her girlfriend she met the most adorable 'baby gays.' I watch for Quinn's reaction, which is just to smile and say a polite _Thank you_ , and then I give Jen a grateful smile before we exit the restaurant.

"Want to take a walk?" she offers, and I nod.

Quinn's hand is warm in mine, our fingers interlaced in the best way imaginable. Sure, our hands are hidden by her coat as we walk but this still feels amazing. I'm not worried, and that's the best thing for us. This date is important, and it's been spectacular. It was supposed to go this way because it merely reaffirms that this is what I want, wholeheartedly. My dads sat us both down on Wednesday night and explained to us that we should be prepared for curious and angry looks, bigoted slurs and hurtful words to our faces, regardless of where we are. We should also be aware of our public displays of affection, which is heartbreaking but also necessary.

But Quinn kissed me _in public_. It's all I can think about as we walk down the street, discussing the hottest peppers in the world in hushed voices, and then walk back down the opposite side, talking about how they actually make almond milk. My girlfriend knows the strangest things, I tell you. I mean, who even knows anything about Carolina Reapers and Trinidad Moruga Scorpion Peppers? Quinn Fabray, apparently.

At some point, Quinn glances at her watch. "I have to get you home," she says. "I promised LeRoy we wouldn't be too late."

I just nod as I let her lead us to the car - I still can't see it as _her_ car - and she opens the door for me again. I almost expect a kiss but she doesn't give me one. I rather just get a happy smile, and then she runs around to the driver's side. I don't even know what time it is but, if she says it's time to go, then it must be late. Where did all that time go?

"Are you okay?" she asks as she starts the car.

"I'm great."

"So, I made another CD," she tells me, switching out the CDs in the front loader. "It's a little _different_."

"Oh?"

She blushes, her hand reaching into the console again and pulling out another songlist. "Read it or listen?"

"Listen."

Gosh, that grin is going to be the end of me.

Once we're on our way with the music playing, it takes me a moment to figure out that the theme to the CD _is_ different. It starts with Frank Ocean's _Thinkin' Bout You_ , which makes me feel warm both inside and outside. Then _Beast of Burden_ by The Rolling Stones. But it's when _Shut Up and Kiss Me_ by Angel Olsen comes on that I look across at her and watch her profile. She's stunning.

"Quinn Fabray," I say, and she glances at me. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

She laughs gloriously. "If I were, would it be working?"

"It's not _not_ working," I tell her.

"I thought you said you didn't go past second base on first dates," she points out.

"So, what is this then?" I ask, just as _How Do I Tell a Girl I Want to Kiss Her?_ by BTFL comes on. I smile automatically.

"Let it not be said that I'm not a good _closer_ , Berry," she says, a picture of calm as her eyes stay on the road.

"I was already going to kiss you goodnight, Quinn," I tell her because she needs to know. "I'm pretty sure I kissed you _before_ we even left on this amazing date."

"Amazing, huh?"

"Out of this world." Even in the dark, I can see her blushing. "I'm _definitely_ going to kiss you," I go on. "I mean, if you forewent bacon to be able to kiss me, I _have_ to award you somehow."

"Award me, huh?"

I reach out to touch her upper arm, squeeze gently, and then let her concentrate on the road as we listen to music, chat occasionally and sing along to the lyrics we know. I love that we can just do this; just enjoy a drive together and not find it necessary to fill our silence with words.

When we're getting close to Lima, Quinn slows her speed, clearly wanting to drag out the last few minutes. I don't blame her. I want it too.

"This is the last song," she says when we get to my suburb. "It seems this CD is timed much better."

I acknowledge that, and finally read through the songlist, even though my body's already humming from the music I've just heard. She's a _closer_ , all right.

.

 **Faberry's First Date (The Drive Back)**

1\. _Thinkin' Bout You_ \- Frank Ocean

2\. _Beast of Burden_ \- The Rolling Stones

3\. _Shut Up and Kiss Me_ \- Angel Olsen

4\. _Here In Your Arms_ \- Leon Bridges

5\. _How Do I Tell a Girl I Want to Kiss Her?_ \- BTFL

6\. _Try A Little Tenderness_ \- Otis Redding

7\. _Baby_ \- The Roots

8\. _Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?_ \- Amy Whinehouse

9\. _Hold On_ \- Tom Waits

10\. _Love Letter_ \- Clairy Browne and The Bangin' Rachettes

11\. _Waves_ \- Miguel (feat. Kacey Musgraves)

12\. _Really Love_ \- D'Angelo

13\. _No One Else_ \- Weezer

14\. _Hold On, We're Going Home_ \- Drake (feat. Majid Jordan)

15\. _Because The Rain_ \- Patti Smith

16\. _The Man Who Lives Forever_ \- Lord Huron

.

"Damn," I say under my breath, but she still hears me.

"What?"

I take a breath. "You _are_ trying to seduce me, aren't you?"

She blushes. "Why? Is it working?"

"Gosh, yes," I breathe, squirming in my seat. "Are you coming inside?"

She glances at me. "I don't think that's a good idea," she says, her voice low. "You said nothing past second base, and I'm feeling rather handsy tonight." She shakes her head, laughing at herself.

" _You're_ feeling handsy?" I say, huffing slightly. "Did you see yourself working that damn spoon? It should be illegal."

"So, you _would_ rather I used my fingers."

I let out a squeak. "Why are you like this?"

"Would you rather I wasn't?"

I have no response to that. What am I supposed to say? She _wins_. The CD restarts as we pull into my driveway and she brings the car to a stop, shifts into _Park,_ takes out the CD and finally switches off the engine.

"Are you really not coming inside?" I find myself asking.

"I'm not coming inside," she says. "I _am_ going to walk you to the door and I'm going to kiss you goodnight, and then I'm going to go back to my house and gush to my best friend about how great my girlfriend is."

I frown. "Santana?"

"No," she says. "Rachel Berry. Maybe you've heard of her."

I grin. "I haven't, actually."

"That's a travesty. She's pretty great, I think you'd get along." She leans back, squinting slightly. "Actually, you know, you do look a little like her."

"Imagine that."

We share a laugh at how ridiculous we're being before she puts the two CDs from this evening into a dual sleeve and hands them to me. I get a quick kiss to my cheek before she climbs out of the car and comes around to my side. I don't even know why but I suddenly feel nervous. We walk to the front door, acknowledging that the porch-light is turned off. I think my dads did it on purpose to give us the privacy for this moment. We _do_ have neighbours, even though I sometimes like to forget when _I_ walk Quinn to her car in the dead of night.

Quinn brings us to a stop and turns to face me. It's dark enough that I can't actually see the hazel in her eyes. It's a good thing too, because my hands are trembling and my breathing is laboured. Her hands move to my hips and she pulls me close.

"I had fun tonight," I say, my hands sliding over her shoulders.

"We should do it again sometime."

"How about tomorrow?"

She grins at me. "I'd like that."

"Good."

After a beat of silence, she speaks. "I can't feel my lips," she says. "Could you test them for me?"

I can't help my giggle. She's so corny. "With my fingers?"

"Or your lips. It's your choice."

My hand slips around the back of her neck to pull her down. "You're so stinking cute," I murmur, and then I kiss her slowly, steadily and with purpose. I'm trying to tell her I love her without having to say the words. I hope she hears them.

Quinn is the one to pull away first, her forehead resting against mine. "I'll see you tomorrow," she says.

"Tomorrow," I echo.

She presses a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Goodnight, Rachel."

"Goodnight, Quinn."

She releases me slowly, steps back, and then turns on her heel and heads to the car. I stay standing on the porch and watch her go. I only go through the front door when her taillights have disappeared, and find my dads cuddling in the living room.

"Hey, Sweetheart," my Daddy says. "How was it?"

I breathe out a sigh, a grin taking over my face.

"That good, huh?"

I nod. "So much better."

* * *

My weekend consists of a second date, and a third. My plan for Saturday includes us sneaking our dinner into the cinema and eating it without getting caught. Quinn opts for sushi - imagine trying to eat that in the dark - and I have vegan pizza.

I can't even remember what film we watched. It was just background noise to the Rachel and Quinn show.

Sunday, when she gets back from church, she changes out of her Sunday best and lies on my bed to do her homework. She has two tests coming up and I accept that the day is shot until she drags me to my feet at around four o'clock and tells me to put on something decent.

I look down at my sweatpants and t-shirt. "What's wrong with this?"

"Nothing," she says, eyeing me. "Just put on shoes then."

I go into my closet and change into jeans and a green blouse. I slip on my boots and emerge from my closet to find an empty bedroom. There's a note resting on my phone on my desk, clearly from Quinn.

 _Rachel Berry,_

 _Today, we're testing your Language skills (Otherwise known as your_ Google _skills.)  
_ _Tell me, what is the plural of moose, goose and mongoose.  
_ _Come downstairs when you have your answers.  
_ _I'm waiting patiently._

 _\- Q_

I drop down into my desk chair with a smile. I'm sure I know all the plurals, but I still check _Google_ to be sure. I don't want to embarrass myself in front of my genius girlfriend. When I'm sure I have it down, I go downstairs and find Quinn in the kitchen, talking to my Daddy. I fling my arms around her neck and whisper into her ear. "Moose, geese and mongooses."

She laughs right into my ear, her arms circling my waist. "So, you're ready to go then?"

I release her. "Where are we going?"

"Where we always go."

I bounce in excitement and my Daddy just laughs. "Will you two be gone long?" he asks. "Is dinner at seven okay?"

I look at Quinn. This is her date. Wait. Is it a date?

"Seven sounds good," she says. "We should be back with enough time to help." She turns to me. "Ready to go?"

I slip my hand into hers and allow her to lead the way. We drive in the new car. I'm not used to it - I miss Daisy - but it is growing on me. Somehow, it suits Quinn, in an I'm-desperately-untouchable way. It makes her seem grown up, older than she is, and I wonder if that was always the point. Quinn's mother wants to turn Quinn into another Mrs Fabray, but the woman clearly doesn't know her daughter.

I'm still learning.

When we get to the park, Quinn takes her bag out of the backseat and wraps an arm around my shoulders as we make our way to our spot. I've adopted it, so sue me.

She sets up the blanket and sinks down in all her grace. I settle down beside her, closer than usual, and she slides an arm around my waist and rests her chin on my shoulder. It's quiet here. There aren't ever usually people in this area and, if they were, I get the feeling there's a part of Quinn that no longer cares.

"Why are you so beautiful?" she asks in a whisper, her eyes on my face.

I let out a light laugh. "It's my genes."

"No, it's not," she says. "It's more than that. You can be the most attractive person on the outside, but it's the inside that makes you beautiful, and you're probably the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

I grip her hand tightly and rest my head against hers. "Sometimes, I don't believe you're real."

She squeezes my fingers. "I'm real, and I'm trying."

"You're very good at this."

"Oh yeah?"

"Amazing."

"Amazing, huh?"

"Out of this world."

She laughs. "I enjoy making you feel special," she tells me, somewhat seriously. "Sometimes, I feel as if it's all I live for."

I frown. "Quinn?"

"I'm sorry," she says, starting to pull back, but I hold her close. "I don't know why I said that."

"Yes, you do," I say. "Tell me what's going on in that pretty blonde head of yours."

She says nothing.

"Baby?"

She sighs. "I know it's not healthy, but there's a part of me that exists solely for you," she tells me. "And then I wonder if the part that doesn't exist for you _actually_ exists."

"Oh, baby," I say, turning my torso and taking her head in my hands. "Please, don't say that. There's so much more to you than just me." I close my eyes to try not to see just how lost she looks. "Do you know who you are?" I ask. "Do you know who you are?"

She nods slowly.

"You're Quinn Fabray, Head Cheerio, Miss Four-Point-Oh GPA. You have killer friends, and you're popular, respected and totally hot." I wrap her in a hug. "You're strong and confident, and you take no prisoners. You're getting out of Lima. Your parents don't matter."

Her body shudders.

"You're Beth's mother."

She squeezes my waist.

"You are so loved, Quinn Fabray. You are so loved."

I feel her press kisses along my throat, which is a sign that the word 'love' has caused a physical response.

"Tell me, do you know who you are?" I ask again.

She nods against me, but I don't know if I've achieved anything.

* * *

We get home just after six o'clock, and go straight to the kitchen. Well, Quinn does, and I go upstairs to my bedroom to lie down on my bed with music playing in the background. I love her, I truly do. It's all-consuming and overwhelming, and Quinn isn't helping me deal with any of that by being her amazing, perfect self.

My body is buzzing. My heart, too.

I don't know how long I lie there but I eventually hear my bedroom door open and soft footsteps across my carpet. I know it's Quinn without having to open my eyes. I feel a hand on my cheek and lips on my forehead before she speaks.

"Did you know that music makes things sexier?" she whispers, and my eyes fly open.

"What?"

"Music," she repeats, smiling at me. "It makes things sexier." She blinks. "It makes _you_ sexier."

I don't even know what to say to her, so I just stare at her face, surprised.

She gives me a wink before she straightens. "Dinner's almost ready," she says. "I was sent to fetch you. Let's go." Before I can say anything, she turns and heads into the bathroom.

Gingerly and sufficiently heated, I roll off the bed and stretch. I move towards the bedroom door just as Quinn emerges from the bathroom and struts towards my desk to check her phone that she asked me to put on charge. She looks perfectly tousled, cheeks a little flushed from the heat of the kitchen and _she just told me she finds me sexy_.

When she sets her phone back down and looks up at me, I waste no time in launching myself at her, throwing my arms around her neck and pressing my lips against hers. It's the kind of kiss that would be overwhelming for anyone else, but Quinn immediately sinks into it, wrapping her own arms around my waist.

She steps back and drops into my desk chair, taking me with her. I don't have to be told twice as I shift my position and straddle her, our lips never parting. It's a miracle, really. Or, we're just _very_ talented.

My mouth opens on a sigh, and her tongue immediately slips inside, earning herself a significant moan from deep in my chest. This is the easy part. Our tongues slide over each other and she reduces me to a mess of a girl in her arms. My chest tightens as her head tilts, changing the angle of the kiss; deepening it in a way that elicits sounds from me that I would have found embarrassing before Quinn.

It becomes too much sometimes, the sensations of her. When her hands and mouth are moving together, in a rhythm that's maddening; when her mouth slants just right and she squeezes my flesh just so, all the world falls away.

I feel her smile, which makes me pull back, curious. "What?" I ask, breathless.

She shakes her head. "Nothing," she murmurs; "just, what are you thinking about?"

I frown, taking her head in my hands. "What makes you think I'm thinking about anything?"

Her eyes drop to my lips significantly. "I can practically _feel_ you thinking, Rachel. Something on your mind?"

"Just the usual," I tell her.

"So, just me, then?"

I giggle, the sound soft and unassuming, and it translates from my body into hers. "All the time," I say, my nails scraping along her scalp and getting a pleasurable hiss out of her. "It's actually a problem."

"Can't concentrate, can you?"

"I daydream about you, Quinn," I purr, my face dropping into the crook of her neck and my breath warming her skin. "All the time," I repeat.

She playfully nips at my ear, getting another giggle out of me. "Are you complaining?" she asks.

"Definitely not," I reply quickly, sucking on her skin.

She shifts underneath me - practically squirms - and I smile in satisfaction.

I keep up with my ministrations, my lips, tongue and teeth laying claim to her neck and jaw and - down, down, down. I shift her shirt out of the way with my shaking fingers and drag my lips down to her collarbone.

"Rachel," she breathes, her fingers moving possessively over the skin of my back under my blouse. She's panting in my ear, and it's the best sound in all existence. Just, everything about her. There's always something to learn.

I lick my way back up her throat and kiss her mouth, her moans ringing in my ears, pinging around my head and making me feel dizzy with _want_. It feels so good. _She_ feels so g -

"Quinn! Rachel! Dinner!"

We separate as if someone just doused us in cold water and I stumble back, right off of her. We're both breathing heavily, looking disheveled. Gosh, she looks incredible when she's just been throughly kissed.

"We should go," I say.

She just nods, slowly rising to her feet.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to smooth it down. "At least he shouted from downstairs this time," I say. " _That_ could have given him a heart attack."

She smiles faintly. "I think _I_ almost had a heart attack," she murmurs, as she moves past me to the door and opens it, leading the way.

And, as I follow her out of my bedroom, I can't shake the feeling that I would follow her into the dark in a heartbeat.


	17. seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _i am a soft revolution.  
_ _the one whose hair is bleeding._

 _._

"Are you coming over tonight?"

I look up at Santana as she slides into the seat next to me. It's Friday morning and our early Cheerios' practice has my legs aching and my fingers trembling. I may or may not be a little dehydrated because I'm a little dizzy, but it's nothing I haven't experienced before. Though, I do suddenly regret leaving my vitamin water on the counter in the kitchen in my rush to get out of the house this morning. Truthfully, I've been having a rather forgetful week, blissful in my budding relationship with Rachel and stressed out about my upcoming tests and assignments.

"Uh, I am?" I mumble.

Santana sighs as she takes out her notebook for our AP Stats class. "I _told_ you Britt wants to get started on planning your eighteenth."

I frown, despite myself. "I'm having a party?"

She huffs in annoyance, though there's a slight upturn at the side of her mouth. "I know you're all deliriously happy now and all that but we discussed this literally on Monday."

Now, I'm smiling, but I still don't recall the conversation. Regardless, she doesn't need to know that. "I'm sorry," I say. "I remember now. Do you have any water?"

"Sure," she says, digging in her bag for a bottle of water and handing it to me. "Do you _really_ remember or are you just saying that to appease me?"

I shrug. "So, we're throwing me a party... at _my_ house?"

Santana gives me a pointed look. "We shouldn't do that, should we?"

"I think it's best if nobody gets anywhere near my house."

"Except Rachel, huh?"

And now I'm blushing. "Except Rachel," I echo. "We try to plan it that she comes over only when my mom isn't home though. That woman puts us both on edge and we've learned to plan it better."

"She puts _me_ on edge. I still don't know how you live in that house."

I sigh, because I _really_ don't want to get into that right now. I mean, I ask myself that question a lot, but I don't know where else I would go? The Berrymen talk a good game, but I couldn't just go and live with my girlfriend... we're just starting out, anyway. There's Santana, of course, but nothing is a long-term solution, and I already know what it's like not to be living in my house. I don't want to go through that again.

And, she's my _mom_.

"I guess a venue is something we can discuss tonight," I say. "I'm bringing Rachel, by the way."

She laughs. "Was it too much to expect you to _ask_?"

"Definitely." I shoot her a smirk before I down practically half the bottle of water. "There are only a few places where the two of us can just _be_ , and one of those places is at your house."

Santana bumps me with her shoulder. "I hear you, kid," she says. "Welcome to our world."

"Why didn't you tell me it was so great on this side?"

"I've been trying to tell you for years, Q," she says, eyeing me curiously when I take another long drag from the bottle. "Are you okay?"

"Hmm?"

"Thirsty?"

I pull the bottle away. "Uh, yeah," I say. "It's the great red flood this week."

She grimaces at the mention of our mutual monthly _friend_. "And I bet this morning's practice didn't help?"

"I suppose the good thing is the ache in my legs is detracting from my crying ovaries," I say, polishing off the water before getting to my feet and walking to drop the bottle into the recycling bin near the door. The world spins a little but I put one foot in front of the other, determined. Rachel helps with that; she keeps me motivated.

As soon as I drop the bottle into the bin, someone opens the classroom door and I flinch and stumble, tripping over a ghost. I reach out for something, anything, but I'm flailing... and then I'm falling.

And nothing.

* * *

When I come to, my head is throbbing, and every other part of my body is aching in that dull way that doesn't exactly hurt but is still deathly annoying. It takes me a moment to figure out where I am and I groan at the realisation that I'm lying on a bed in the sick bay. Everything hurts. I try to sit up but immediately give up when the world starts to spin on its axis and I lie back down to still it.

There's a glass of orange juice sitting on the table next to the bed and I drink it _all_. I'm thirsty, yes, and I'm feeling some other level of exhausted that even my toes are complaining. I don't even know how I got here. The last thing I remember is those three curved arrows, encouraging me to recycle, reduce and reuse. And then nothing.

"Miss Fabray?"

I look up at Nurse Davis and offer her a small smile. "Hi, Nurse D," I manage to say.

She walks towards me, moving to the side of my bed and looking over me critically. "How are you feeling?" she asks, seemingly satisfied that I've managed to drink all the juice she probably set out earlier. It's one step to proving I'm good to go.

"Pretty awful, if I'm being honest."

"That's expected," she says, sitting in the chair next to the bed. "Your iron was extremely low, and so was your blood pressure."

"Oh?"

She nods. "When you're feeling up to it, we can go to the hospital for a proper checkup. I have iron tablets for you to take, but you might need to get a proper prescription if you are anaemic."

I blink. "Uh, how long have I been out?"

"A little over an hour," she tells me. "It's almost third period."

I let out a breath, forcing away a wave of absolute panic. "What exactly happened?"

"You fainted in AP Stats, and a few of your friends brought you here," she says, and I groan. "You also managed to knock your arm on a desk on your way down, and it's already starting to bruise."

It's the first time I notice the secondary throbbing in my forearm. Really, can this day get any worse? I bury my face in my hands. "This is so embarrassing."

"It happens."

"Not to me," I mutter, just thinking about the rumours spreading through the school. I'm the Head Cheerio. I'm supposed to be indestructible. And I _fainted_? How pansy is that? I start to move again. "And I definitely don't need to go to the hospital. My best friend's father is a doctor, and I'll see him this evening. I have to get back to class anyway. I have a Chemistry test after lunch."

She shakes her head, putting a hand out to still my movements. "You need rest," she says. "At least another half an hour, and then we can consider the possibility of your going back to class, okay?"

I sigh. "Fine."

"That's the spirit."

I try not to roll my eyes, settle back down on the bed and promptly fall asleep.

* * *

There's a soft pressure in my hand when I come to for the second time. I groan at the ache in my muscles, and the pressure in my hand shifts. A beat later, I feel fingers in my hair and then lips on my forehead, once, twice. There's a soft sigh, and then a perfect voice.

"Why do you keep insisting on injuring yourself?"

My eyes open and hazel meets chestnut brown. "Hi," I breathe.

Rachel settles back down into her chair and levels me with a glare. "Don't just 'hi' me," she practically hisses at me. "Do you know what it's like to be sitting in the middle of Trig. and get a text from Santana telling me that Q's just passed out and she's at the Nurse's, and not be able to do anything about it? I had to wait until my free period to come and see you."

I raise my eyebrows. "So, no hall pass then?"

She slaps my - uninjured - forearm. She may be mad, but she still has the foresight not to hurt me _further_. "This isn't funny. I was terrified."

I shift into a sitting position and fight off the wave of dizziness. God, can my stupid bro just fix its;f or something? "I'm sorry," I say. "It was just low iron. I'm fine."

Her eyes narrow, and I know immediately I've said the wrong thing. "Listen to me, Quinn Fabray: I love you, so, when you're not fine, _tell me_. Please don't keep saying 'I'm fine,' because you're obviously not, and it's not cool. Seriously."

"Rachel," I breathe, sensing the severity of this moment owing to her adoption of colloquial language. "Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad, Quinn," she says. "I'm just worried, okay? I worry, and I - "

I reach for her hand and squeeze her fingers. "I'm sorry," I say, trying to find the words. If she wants me to tell her, then I'm going to. "Physically, _now_ , I'm fine. It _was_ low iron, which is easily fixable with proper rest and a few tablets. I'm stressed out about the Cheerios and school, I haven't been drinking enough water and I'm literally bleeding from my uterus. I'm exhausted, Rachel. I just - I want to sleep. And now Britt wants to plan a birthday party for me, and the football boys are all acting so damn weird, and I'm tired. I'm just so fucking tired."

Rachel says nothing. She just gets to her feet - forcing me into a panic that she's going to leave me - and then settles on the bed beside me. I shift to the left and she moves closer, wrapping her arms around me and hugging me to her body. I don't even bother with a glance toward the door. I suddenly don't care if anyone sees us. She presses her lips to my temple and I relax into her, settling into her familiar embrace.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"I don't want you to be sorry," she murmurs. "I just want you to let me help you."

"I don't want you to have to give so much, Rachel," I tell her. "I don't know how to balance the scales."

She kisses my forehead. "There are no scales, Quinn. There's nothing to be balanced. This is how it works. When you need me, I'm there. When I need you, you're there. I know it's been only one week since our first date, and it's been great, but you have to remember we _are_ friends first, okay? We don't hide things from each other. I added it to the best friend contract and we re-signed it, remember?"

I burrow my face into the crook of her neck, feeling guilty and embarrassed.

"I just hate to see you hurting," she says, her lips ghosting over my skin. "It hurts me when you hurt."

I tighten my grip on her sweater. "I'm a mess."

"Maybe you are," she agrees, and I feel her smile against me. "But you're a beautiful mess, and you're _mine_. Please, just let me take care of you. I _want_ to."

I close my eyes really tightly and focus on her beating heart, her words penetrating and comforting. It's all that really matters, isn't it? I'm _hers_ , and nothing else matters in this moment. Her presence is warm and soothing and, before I know it, I'm drifting back to sleep from exhaustion, my heart happy and my body calm.

With Rachel Berry, is there any other way?

* * *

The next time I wake up, it's almost time for lunch. I'm definitely hungry, and my waking groan is borderline more uncomfortable than my growling stomach. This day is a complete and utter fail and I don't even know how I'm supposed to write my Chemistry test when I haven't managed to do any revision. Despite Rachel's beliefs about my academic prowess, AP Chemistry really is the subject I struggle with the most, and I already know this specific test is shot to hell.

As soon as the bell signalling lunch sounds, I straighten. Surely, I can leave now. I feel sufficiently grounded or whatever Nurse Davis requires of me to be able to get out of here. I need to get some food, study a bit, and find out from Santana just how damaging my little foray into the land of the fainted has been. I shift to the edge of the bed and drop my legs to the floor, stretching my back and trying to evaluate the damage to my body. I'm in pain, yes, but I can't quite pinpoint _what_ hurts. Or, really, what _doesn't_ hurt.

I stand slowly, pleased that the world remains steady, and move towards the sink in the corner of the room. I splash my face with cold water, trying to get feeling back. I loosen my ponytail, rake my fingers through my hair, and then redo it, making sure that not a single strand is out of place. I have a feeling I'm going to be meeting with Coach Sylvester at some point, which I'm definitely not looking forward to. I wouldn't even know what to say to her. For all she knows, I'm not even a human being. All this stupid day has proven to me is that I'm not indestructible, physically, and that truth hurts _me_ more than it will ever hurt her. I'm supposed to be able to take a beating. I'm supposed to be stronger.

I breathe out a sigh and square my shoulders. I can do this. It's just a day I have to get through. I start making a mental list of all the things still required of this day. Eat. Study. Try not to fail my test. Get the work I missed from various people. Speak with Coach Sylvester. Sit through Glee. Go over to Santana's. Kiss Rachel. Kiss Rachel again. Try not to -

"Quinn?"

I turn sharply towards the source of the voice, a confused frown on my face. "Finn?" I blink. "What are you doing here?"

Finn is impossibly tall as he stands in the doorway, looking all kinds of awkward as he carefully avoids my gaze. "Well, I heard about what happened, and I, uh, I wanted to check if you were okay."

I frown. "Oh."

"Are you... okay?"

I sigh. "I'm fine, Finn," I say, and I don't feel nearly as guilty about saying it to him as I did to Rachel. He's proved he doesn't really care about me - there's a list of reasons, but I'm too tired and emotional to think about them right now - so what is he _really_ doing here?

He takes a step towards me, his face giving away something that I don't recognise. It irritates me beyond belief, and I want nothing more than to tell him to leave. This entire week, he's been acting _weird_ , and his football teammates haven't been much better. Obviously, he doesn't read the tension in my shoulders or the narrowing of my eyes because he takes another step towards me. His steps are large, and he's practically in front of me by my next breath.

"Finn," I say, annoyance seeping into my tone.

"I'm worried about you," he says.

My fists clench. "Why?"

"Because I care about you, and you just _fainted_ , Quinn," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. " _Of course_ , I would worry about you."

"Stop it," I hiss, trying not to be taken back to months ago when this very boy _broke me_. Where was all this 'care' then? "Just stop, Finn. _Jesus_. What are you even doing here?"

"Quinn - "

"It's not your job to worry about me!" I snap. "You handed in your resignation months ago, or have you conveniently forgotten all about that?"

His face falls, and I look away.

"Why now?" I ask, my blood boiling. "Why _now_? I don't _need_ you to worry about me, so just stop with whatever the hell you think this is. You don't have to feel guilty anymore. You don't _owe_ me anything. I'm _fine_."

"Quinn," he says, stepping towards me again. "This isn't about guilt. Am I really not allowed to worry about you? I know we aren't together anymore, but - "

"Stop!" I suddenly yell, just needing him to quit speaking "You don't get to worry about me _now_! Where were you when I was crying myself to sleep when you _left me_? Where was all your stupid worrying when you _told_ me you wanted _more than me_? That I wasn't _good enough_ for you? That I didn't _feel_ anything? That I _ruined_ you? Where were you then, Finn? Where were you, huh? I didn't need you then, and I sure as hell don't need you now!"

He just stares at me, clearly stumped by my outburst.

Finn and I are still standing in awkwardly charged silence when Rachel, Santana and Brittany finally arrive, saving me from all this confusion - and anger. I'm breathing heavily, my fists clenched, and it's immediately obvious to all three of them that something is wrong. It takes them a moment to take in the situation in front of them, and then Rachel moves straight towards me, and I hear rather than see Santana sneer at Finn. She yells something at him, but Rachel is suddenly in my arms and the warmth of her embrace helps stop my body from shaking. I close my eyes to the comfort and hate that all the progress I seem to have made with regards to Finn has amounted to _nothing_.

Rachel's hands slide down my back, bringing me out of what must be a space-out. I breathe out slowly and pull back so I can look at her face. She's looking at me with worried eyes and her mouth is set in a thin line. She's clearly not happy with this situation, but she's silent about it. Bless her, my little hero.

"Q?"

I look past Rachel at Santana standing near the door.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her tone giving away the concern she's clearly trying to hide. We're such proud people sometimes; it's sickening. "Do you want me to beat him up?"

I just offer her a small smile as I shake my head.

"Maybe you should lie back down," Rachel suggests, her tone low and gentle, as if she doesn't want to spook me. "We can get you something to eat, and then we can reevaluate how you feel after that. How does that sound?"

I resist the urge to kiss her as I nod my head. I visit the bathroom first, and then climb back onto the bed. It takes the four of us a few minutes to get settled, and then another minute to get comfortable. Rachel busies herself with preparing my salad, taking out the olives, adding extra pieces of chicken and sprinkling a little too much salt - she probably _Googled_ fainting - before she hands it to me. I notice the smile on Brittany's face and the roll of Santana's eyes. I ignore them in favour of my salad, because I know Rachel won't start eating until I do.

They speak to me and I try to reply, but they're mostly talking to one another. I assume they talk about me at some point, probably making plans on how to exact their collective and particular brand of Quinn-management, but I'm not listening. I eat as much as I can - which isn't much - while Rachel's soft hand pats my leg in a steady rhythm, which eventually lulls me back to sleep.

* * *

Santana drives me straight to her house after she gets out of Glee, and Brittany drives my car behind us. It's part of the Quinn-management plan for today, so I don't put up a fight. I'm a little too tired for arguing anyway. I just want to crawl into a bed and _sleep_ for years and years, so I'll let my three favourite people handle whatever needs to be handled, and then deal with the aftermath when I'm not feeling so drained.

Santana doesn't give me options when we get to her house. It's almost as if she's channeling Rachel when she sends me upstairs to the guest room in which I usually sleep. She tells me to change into the sweats that were already in my bag because I was meant to be going to Rachel's. Which really means that I always have extra clothes because I'm always going to Rachel's.

She makes me hydrate with water and orange juice, take the necessary pills and then climb into bed. I don't put up a fight. After the day I've had, I'm ready to let them take care of me. When Santana leaves the room, Brittany gets into bed with me and wraps me in her arms. She feels different to Rachel but my body accepts the comfort and I slowly relax.

When Santana comes back, she's not alone. Her father is with her, looking equally calm and concerned. He has his doctor's bag, and I sigh. Brittany and Santana leave us alone and I get asked all the normal questions. Dr Lopez is kind and gentle as he first checks my blood pressure, which has managed to normalise since Nurse Davis last checked it, though it's still on the low side. Next, he pricks my finger to retest my iron - it's still low, but not _as_ low as it was earlier - before he draws three vials of blood to run a few tests at the hospital. _Just to make sure_ , he says.

I get queasy at the sight of the blood, which makes him smile. He has a warm smile and a soft tone, and I can't help thinking about my own father. He was always so cold and hard, even before the pregnancy. He was suffocating and controlling from such a young age, and I shudder to think about the kind of person I would be without Beth, without the homelessness, without the divorce... just, _before_.

Before Rachel.

I can't help thinking that staying in that house with him would have killed me, slowly and quickly, suffocating and slicing.

Dr Lopez gives me some more tablets to take, tells me to get some rest, kisses my forehead, and then leaves the room. Santana and Brittany return a minute later and take up positions on either side of me. There isn't a television in here, but Brittany just hums a song I don't recognise in my ear.

Santana reaches for my hand at some point. "I know I act all tough and all that, but I would really appreciate it if you didn't do what you did this morning ever again," she says, her tone serious and emotional.

I'm hit by so much guilt that I close my eyes and squeeze her fingers. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

"San was sad," Brittany tells me, and then resumes her humming.

I turn my head and look at Santana's profile. "Hi," I murmur.

She turns to look at me as well, our noses practically touching. "We're the Unholy Trinity, plus Berry, and take care of one another, Q," she says. "We fight for one another, even when we sometimes fight _with_ each other. I know you and the midget are happily in love and all that, but we worry about you too."

I just nod to indicate that I've heard and acknowledged her, absently resting my head on her shoulder. "So, what happened today?" I ask.

"Besides the fact that I almost had a fucking heart attack when my best friend collapsed?" she says, reverting back to the Santana I know and love. "Generally, people didn't have much to say because it was pretty obvious what happened."

"No pregnancy rumours?"

"It's not the first time a Cheerio has passed out," she tells me. "It was just different having it happen in class. And you haven't passed out since the summer before junior year."

I groan. "I was doing so well, wasn't I?"

She laughs lightly. "The streak is over, Fabray."

"Is it because I'm getting old?" I ask. "Is this what being an adult is about?"

"Dude, being an adult is basically just whispering 'what the fuck' under your breath something like two hundred times a day."

I laugh out loud for a solid minute, before I sigh contently, relaxing further into the pillows and mattress. I feel Brittany's arms tighten around me and she moves to whisper in my ear, as if she knows the words I need to hear. "It's okay, Q," she assures me. "Go to sleep. Rachel will be here when you wake up."

I didn't even know I needed to hear about Rachel, but it feels as if a fist around my heart unclenches and I can breathe again.

"There we go," she says, soothingly. "It's okay. Sleep. Everything will be better when you wake up."

I believe her.

* * *

I wake up alone, the smell of bacon wafting into the room through the open door and I'm instantly alert. Wait, bacon? I sit up to survey my surroundings and it takes me a beat to recall the day as a whole, which makes me groan. I shift to the edge of the bed and run hands over my hair to smooth it down as my feet touch down on the wooden floors. I don't think I do much good but my aching body definitely doesn't care. My hair is the least of my problems.

I spy a glass of water and some Advil, which brings a smile to my face. I love how my girlfriend takes care of me; how she _loves_ me, despite all I put her through. I reach over and take two tablets, hoping they'll work immediately, even though I _know_ they'll take at least twenty minutes to move through my digestive system and take effect. I think I'll probably need something much stronger at some point. Things _hurt_. I know this kind of physical pain, I do, but there's this odd emotional pain sitting heavily on my chest. I know I'll have to take the time to sit down and unpack that, but there's bacon in the air and I can't think straight.

"Quinn?"

I look up to see Rachel walking into the room, a steady smile on her face. "Hi," I breathe, managing a smile. I'm just so happy to see her. I've missed her today.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, coming to a stop in front of me and cupping my cheeks with her hands. "You look better."

I lift a shoulder, and then drop it. "Is that bacon I smell?" I ask.

She laughs lightly, stepping forward and sitting sideways on my lap, her arms slipping around my neck. "That _is_ bacon you smell."

" _Why_ do I smell bacon?" I ask, my arms wrapping around her waist. She's warm and soft, and just having her in my arms is enough to ease the building tension in my muscles.

"Britt says that bacon makes you happy, so she and Santana have spent the last hour coming up with the ultimate bacon experience for you," she tells me. "As disturbing as it is to witness or even think about, they are _very_ creative."

I smile because I imagine they _are_ going overboard with their creation. The three of us have been known to go a little crazy in the kitchen. "I'm sorry I left you to deal with all that bacon."

She sighs dramatically. "I suppose it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make, because I just want you to be happy," she says, her fingers sliding into my hair.

My eyes close at her touch. "Bacon isn't what makes me happy, Rachel," I say, my tone serious and unassuming. She has to know. This is important. " _You_ are."

She kisses my cheek, her lips lingering on my skin.

"As I was falling, all I was thinking about was you," I tell her, alluding to the events of this morning. "I knew that, if I could just see you, everything would be okay. _I_ would be okay."

Her lips trail down my jaw and she hums. "And you _are_ okay."

I nod. "Santana's father had a look at me," I tell her. "I'm physically okay."

She pulls back to look into my eyes, searching for something. "And not physically?"

"I'm not yet sure," I confess. "I have to have a proper sit down with myself and discuss it."

Despite herself, she giggles, which allows for levity to return.

"How do you really feel about the bacon?" I ask her, my left hand sliding up her back and drawing her closer.

She sighs into my neck. "I told you I want you to be happy and, if Britt is convinced that bacon will help, I'm willing to accept it for what it is."

I raise my eyebrows, feeling myself return to myself, and I just go for it. "I don't want to eat bacon if it means I don't get to eat you."

Her first reaction is to gasp, before she blushes and ducks her head to try to hide it from me. She fails, and I smirk. "I have a solution for that, Quinn," she eventually says, hands closing around strands of my loose hair and tugging gently. "So, you know, eat all the bacon you want, please. Be happy."

I frown. "But, if I recall correctly, you told me my mouth wouldn't be going anywhere near any part of your body if I ate bacon, and that's not okay with me. At all."

She laughs gloriously, throwing her head back, and happiness settles in my chest, overpowering that weird emotional pain from earlier. Everything unnecessary dulls when I'm with her. "That condition still applies, unfortunately," she says seriously. "But that doesn't mean _my_ mouth can't go near _yours_."

I suck in a sharp breath, the ache in my limbs completely forgotten as I reach forward to kiss her. I haven't kissed her all day, and it's been too long. My arms tighten around her the moment she slides her tongue into my mouth, and she's missed me too, hasn't she? I _miss_ her, even when she's right here _with me_.

We kiss slow and fast, shallow and deep, and the simple act of just kissing her - lips, tongues and teeth - is both settling and exhilarating. Just her presence grounds me, settles me and comforts me. I don't know what I would do without her.

Rachel is the one to pull away first, her breath jagged and her eyes wide. "We should probably head downstairs," she says; "before one of them comes up here to get us."

"Brittany rather than Santana, definitely," I say, grinning at her.

She smiles gently, pecking me once more before standing up and holding out her hand. I force myself to take a deep, calming breath and then stand and slip my hand into hers. She squeezes my fingers, and then leads the way out of the room and down to the kitchen after I make a quick stop to the bathroom. I'm fully aware of the fact my smile is growing wider the closer we get to the bacon. Its delicious smell is assaulting my senses. She giggles when she glances over her shoulder at me.

"You're so cute," she says, and I don't even try to deny it. She can say whatever she wants to say right now because I'm about to have bacon.

I just never quite imagined it would be _that much_ bacon. Rachel wasn't kidding when she said Brittany and Santana got creative, and I can practically feel my arteries clogging up just _looking_ at it. Brittany is smiling so widely, and Santana is just waiting for my reaction, prepared to jump down my throat if any bit of Brittany's smile dims as a result of anything I say or do.

"Wow," I say, glancing nervously at Rachel, and I feel her hand on the small of my back. "B, what exactly is it?"

She jumps on the spot and excitedly pushes the plate towards me. It smells so good. "Well, it's a bacon bacon bacon bacon burger," she says, beaming at me. "It's got two bacon-wrapped buns, two bacon-wrapped patties, the patties are made of bacon, lettuce, pickles, tomato and onions, bacon cheese, and bacon spread."

"We didn't put pickles, B," Santana says calmly. "Q doesn't like pickles, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Brittany says, her eyes back on me. "Do you want to taste it?"

I don't need Santana's glare to tell me what I'm going to say. I wouldn't want to hurt Brittany's feelings either. And, I mean, it's _bacon_. "Of course, B. It looks amazing."

She nods her head vigorously.

"Can we cut it up?" I ask carefully. "So we can share?"

Brittany nods again, reaching for a knife that Santana quickly takes from her before she can properly yield it. Santana slices the burger in half and my eyes widen at all the _juices_ that pour out of it. She shoots me a grin and I roll my eyes. Our next weigh-in is going to be _very_ interesting. Brittany shifts my half to another plate and places it right in front of me. Santana cuts the other half into half again, and both she and Brittany get a quarter. Rachel steps closer to the kitchen island to inspect my heart-attack-just-waiting-to-happen.

"I assume it _must_ taste good," she murmurs, her hand sliding up my back. "Even if it does look a little suspect."

"I don't even know if will fit in my mouth," I say.

"Try it," Brittany says before Santana can say something dirty.

I, somewhat nervously, move my hands and attempt to lift my half of the burger. It smells _really_ good, and I'm sure it tastes really good too. I'm trying desperately not to think of the calories. I glance at Rachel. "If I die, just know that I died happy." And then I bite into the burger... and I swear I _do_ die. I automatically moan in contentment, my eyes closing, and I feel Rachel's hand close into a fist around the fabric of my t-shirt.

"Whoa, Q," Santana says, whistling. "If I wasn't totally in love with Britt, I would do you in a heartbeat... Berry, your girlfriend is fucking hot."

"I know," Rachel breathes, and I blush around my smile as I chew and swallow heaven, my eyes opening.

Brittany looks so excited. "You're happy, aren't you?" she asks me.

I nod in her direction. "Oh, yeah, B," I say. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Q."

I just grin. I _am_ happy right now, and my next bite makes me even happier. But, if I'm being entirely honest, nothing on this earth will make me nearly as happy as the girl currently scraping her nails along my back.

* * *

Rachel suggests calling it a night after the first film. My eyes are already drooping and the warmth of her arms is making it difficult to stay awake, which is why I give in without a fight. Rachel stands first and pulls me to my feet, keeping her hands in mine. We bid Brittany and Santana goodnight - they're going to watch another film and possibly do some other things - and then Rachel takes me to bed. She visits the bathroom in the corridor first, and I slip into Santana's room to use hers. I haven't cared at all about what I look like all day, so I practically yelp at the sight of myself in the mirror.

Well.

I use the toilet, brush my teeth _thoroughly_ \- trying to rid my mouth of the evidence of bacon - wash my face and take out my contacts. I think I've used the 'extended wear' stipulation on their packaging to its maximum today, and my eyes just need the rest. Much like the rest of my body.

Surprisingly, Rachel is already in bed, sitting up against the headboard in its centre. I frown at the odd position as I enter the room and close the door. She notices my expression, smiles gently, spreads her legs and pats the space between them. I just stare, sure that my eyes must resemble saucers.

She waves a hand. "Come here," she says. "I want to cuddle."

I pad over to the bed, slip under the covers and move into her arms. I settle with my back against her front, her legs bent up either side of me and her arms around me, one over my shoulder and the other around my waist. She's so warm and secure and bacon has no foothold on _this_ heaven.

I sigh contently, lacing my fingers with hers. "Are you still mad about today?" I ask, almost in a whisper.

She presses a kiss to my hairline. "I was never mad, baby."

I close my eyes. "Not even a little bit?"

"Not at you," she assures me. "Maybe at other things, because it's unlikely not to feel all sorts of feelings in one day, but the overwhelming feeling has been worry for you." She runs her free hand over my hair. "It's a full-time job, really."

"Sorry," I murmur.

She kisses the side of my head. "I applied for it, so please never apologise again," she says. "And, I mean, I am paid more than enough, so I have no complaints."

"And just how much are you earning?"

Her lips are on my cheek now, one, two, three, and she sighs. "I get to kiss you," she says. "I get to hold you and touch you and know you're mine... which is honestly one of the greatest ways to be paid that isn't a sexual favour."

I choke on the air in my throat, and she bursts out laughing. "Rachel," I breathe. "What am I ever going to do with you?"

"I could think of a few things," she murmurs, and now she's kissing my neck, sucking on my skin in the most delightful way. I squirm in her grasp, and I feel her smile against me before she pulls back. "Are you excited for your birthday?"

"Am I excited about finally turning eighteen and being out of the stranglehold of my parents, yes, but I'm not that keen on the entire 'birthday' part," I admit. "I fully accept society's pressures to celebrate and I imagine I'll warm up to the idea eventually, but I won't lie and say I probably would have preferred something more low key. Just a dinner with friends or something like that."

She sighs. "We don't have to have the party, Quinn."

"And break Britt's heart? No, thank you." I squeeze her fingers. "It's okay. I _do_ like the idea of a party; I'm just not sure how I feel about all the attention I'm going to receive... and all the questions I'll get asked when the party won't even be held at _my_ house."

"It's no secret why that would be a bad idea," she says. "As horrible as it is to say, it's still a universal truth of Lima that your family is all kinds of crazy."

I laugh, and her grip on me tightens.

"If anything, I think people will be more disappointed than curious," she says. "I suspect people will do just about anything to see where Quinn Fabray sleeps, poops and eats."

I groan. "Gosh, you're so lucky you're so adorable when you say _words_ , because, seriously, there are just words you shouldn't say."

She giggles, her mouth descending on my neck again. She traps a sliver of flesh between her teeth and I moan. "How tired are you?" she asks a moment later. "Because, I'm pretty sure I said something about _my_ mouth and _your_ body."

I breathe out. "That's weird," I murmur. "I find I'm suddenly wide awake."

She laughs lightly, blows cool air on the skin she's planning to mark, and then proceeds to make me lose track of the time, the day and _myself_.


	18. eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _the rain in this room is low and thick  
_ _and undressing my heart through the air._

 _._

Despite Dr Lopez's express instructions to stay home and rest, Quinn goes to Cheerios' practice early Saturday morning with Santana and Brittany. _They_ don't seem too happy about it either, so that's at least comforting. They'll keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn't do anything she shouldn't. I actually ask her to sit it out, just attend the practice, but she rolls her eyes playfully as if she thinks I'm joking. I just get a quick kiss, and then she's gone.

And, as I watch her drive away, I accept for the first time that my heart is no longer living inside my chest.

It's a sobering thought that stays with me all morning. I distract myself by going to the dance studio and burning off my worry with complicated steps and loud, pumping music. I dance until my feet hurt and my heart is warm. I'll be the first to admit my schedule has emptied somewhat. I quit many of my various clubs to focus on Glee and my voice and my dance... and now my Quinn. Ever since she entered my life in a way that seems endlessly consuming, I haven't felt the need for many other things. I used to fill my life up with so many unnecessary and empty things, but now I just live _the_ life.

With Quinn.

She's brought so much excitement _and_ calmness into my life. I mean, even one of those smiles from her is enough to set my entire body on fire and my heart aflame, while still having the power to still the blood in my veins. She's helped me focus on the important things; helped me _ground_ myself and helped me understand myself in a way I thought I always did until I _actually_ did. I don't know how much of it actually has to do with my sexuality, but I feel settled in my skin. There are, of course, aspects of my life that are stressful, but I feel capable of anything and everything now. Quinn does that for me. I can do it all because she's _with_ me.

I'm under no illusion that whatever I'm feeling could be an obsessive part of my personality. Quinn is _everywhere_ , yes, but I appreciate the fact that we still lead separate lives. We have separate interests - her books and my music - and we respect that. She respects _me_ \- now, at least - which is something that's surprisingly foreign to me. Jesse was different. Many aspects of our relationship felt like a competition, as if he was constantly trying to undermine me to make himself feel better. He was dreamy, yes, with really good hair and handsome features, but I know I never loved him. I _could_ never have loved him in that big way, because I was always destined for that something _more_ with Quinn Fabray.

There was _no_ emotional connection with Noah, at all. To this day, I don't know what I was thinking. It was almost a knee-jerk reaction - for both of us, I assume - to Finn and Quinn getting back together after their one-day breakup in sophomore year. A reaction to having both our hopes dashed so suddenly. I had a crush on Finn, and I've always been convinced that Noah holds a candle for Quinn. If I'm being honest, I don't think it's ever gone out. Not that I blame him or anything. Regardless of what happens between me and Quinn in the future, I don't see myself ever not loving her in some way. She makes it difficult to let go, which is why I can be marginally sympathetic to Finn. He made the biggest mistake of his life, and now he has to live with it.

After the dance studio, I visit the music store to look through sheet music. I'm feeling slightly _stuck_ when it comes to my music choices these days. I'm searching for something - I can feel it - and I wonder if I'll find it in this particular store; in this particular town... at all. In the end, I purchase some Celine Dion sheet music. Maybe I can serenade Quinn when she gets back from practice. She'll probably just grin stupidly when I sit her down and start singing. She's mesmerising when she's watching me sing. I have a plan for when I get home. I intend to shower, have a snack and practice my song until Quinn gets back.

So, I really don't expect to find a certain SUV in the driveway, or a certain blonde in my bed. She's asleep now, but it's obvious she was working on her homework. The diligent student in her probably stressed endlessly about the work she missed yesterday and the Chemistry test she'll have to make up on Monday. It's a good thing Santana's in all of her AP classes because I don't think Quinn would trust anyone else's notes. Right now, she looks calm and peaceful, her face relaxed and her body curled around a pillow. I want nothing more than to crawl in beside her but... shower first. I think she'd appreciate that.

I disappear into my closet, pick out a relaxed outfit, and then go into my bathroom. I smile at the sight of Quinn's things. Generally, as an only child, I like my own space and I like my own things, so it's been a bit of an adjustment getting used to another person, but I wouldn't change a thing. I can't even remember what my life was like _before,_ as if it was grainy black and white before, and now it's vibrant and bright and full of colour. It's grossly cliche, I know, but I can't help it.

When I get back out, clean and fresh, Quinn is still asleep and I let out a sigh of relief. She definitely needs her rest. Her blood tests didn't raise any alarm bells, but she's supposed to take it easy this weekend, and she seems to be listening, _finally_. I pad across the carpet, shift her books to my desk and then crawl into bed, replacing the pillow in her arms with my body. Even in sleep, she knows I'm there and her arms shift and tighten around me. I sigh contently, relaxing into her embrace and closing my eyes.

This moment is important. All these moments amount to this life the two of us are building. We haven't really spoken about the future but we're headed in that direction. It's February now, which is the time early acceptance offers are made and, as much as I want to ask Quinn about her plans for after graduation, I don't know how to do it without alluding to the very truth that her initial plans were made with someone else in mind. Where do I fit into all of it? _Do_ I even fit into any of it now?

She shifts next to me, quietly letting out a puff of air that washes over me. The future is coming, sure, but nothing beats the feeling of right now. Quinn helps me with my priorities and, yes, reaching my ultimate dream of Broadway stardom is important to me, but now... so is she.

* * *

Quinn is with me when my life changes for the second time in recent months. The first time, she was there as well, only she was bawling her eyes out. This time, though, _I'm_ the one who's crying uncontrollably. My hands are shaking from disbelief and excitement, and Quinn has to take the letter from my hands because I'm incoherent and hyperventilating. We're standing in the entrance hall, just back from school and the rest of the mail is spread out at our feet. I could barely contain myself, dropping _everything_ when I spotted the name and the return address and the stamp.

Quinn looks surprised at first, and then horrified when I rip open the letter like a crazy person and start _dying_. I honestly can't seem to catch my breath and she's forced to take the letter from me because I can't tell her what's happening without air in my lungs. Her eyes widen as she reads the words, and then her face spreads out in the most glorious smile that I temporarily forget why I'm so happy. But then I remember. Oh, my God.

"Rachel," she breathes, looking at me with all the wonder in the world. "This says you have an audition for the, uh, New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts."

I nod. "It does."

She beams at me. "You have an audition for the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts."

"I have an audition for the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts," I echo, and _ohmygod_. Before I can even get another word out, Quinn is _on_ me, her arms tight around me and her mouth devouring mine. She backs me up against the front door, her hands sliding under my top immediately. I was barely prepared for the assault but, holy shit, it _feels_ good, her fingers trailing fire over my skin.

Quinn's mouth drops down to my jaw and she licks her way across my throat. "This is the greatest news I've ever heard," she murmurs, her fingers skirting along the underside of my breasts over my bra. Good _God_. "I am so proud of you."

I can't even breathe. "It's just... an... audition," I manage to say.

"Which is just a formality," she says, and her chest vibrates against mine, sending a shiver straight through my body. She sounds so _sure,_ and I don't even care what she's saying, but it's probably the sexiest thing I've ever heard. _She_ is the sexiest thing I've ever heard. Or seen. She's relentless, practically squashing me between her form and the oak door.

"Quinn," I pant.

She hums along my skin for the longest moment before she pulls back and looks at my face. "I don't even know what the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts is," she says. "Pray, please do elaborate."

I can't think clearly with her hands doing _things_. She must realise that because she eases up and I don't feel as if every breath I manage to take is going straight towards keeping me standing upright. She's still pressed against me in the most delicious way and I resist the urge to just kiss her and forget about this conversation completely. "NYADA is the premium school for musical theatre in the country," I tell her. "It's a sure way to get my foot in the door when it comes to Broadway. Kurt and I - " I stop suddenly. "Kurt! Oh my gosh, do you think he's received his letter?"

Before she can even respond, I'm gently pushing her away and moving towards my bag to retrieve my phone. I hear her chuckle behind me, light hands on my hips, a gentle kiss to my temple, and then she's moving away. I'm vaguely aware of her walking into the kitchen as I pull up Kurt's contact and text him, asking if he's received anything from NYADA. I'm typing a text to my Dad when I walk into the kitchen and see Quinn typing something on her own phone. She looks slightly mischievous but, before I can ask about it, my phone buzzes.

 _ **Kurt: OHMYGOD! Did you get an audition? I mean, obviously you did... but just confirm it for me. I'm not home yet, but I'm definitely checking the mail as soon as I am!**_

 **Rachel: I did, and I think I'm dreaming. YES! Check it as soon as you get home and then call me! Crossing fingers!**

When I look up, Quinn is no longer in the kitchen. I frown. Where did she go? I head upstairs and go into my empty bedroom. I can hear water running in my bathroom, which eases me somewhat. When she comes out, we settle down to do our homework. She seems a little distracted, constantly checking her phone... almost as much as I check mine, just waiting for Kurt to text me.

He doesn't. He calls instead, with the most amazing news. I squeal into the phone, jumping out of my chair and practically dancing around the room in excitement. This is one of the best days. I mean, what are the chances of two show choir kids from Lima, Ohio getting auditions to NYADA? It's insane. Quinn shows just the right amount of enthusiasm, but there's something slightly dim in her eyes.

As soon as I'm off the phone with Kurt - promising to celebrate as soon as possible - Quinn is back to fiddling with her phone. I don't question her because it's impossible to assume she'd be _on_ all the time. The only thing that truly bothers me is that it's _today_ , and _after_ I received the letter. I mean, we haven't spoken about the future at all. She knows about my desire to go to New York - everyone does - but we've never discussed it. What does it mean for us, now that we're together?

At some point, Quinn goes into the bathroom with her bag. When she emerges, she's wearing my favourite jeans, a blue blouse and her black boots. My heart rate speeds up at the sight of her, and the confusion must show on my face. Is she going somewhere?

"Rachel," she says, smiling at me. "Can you put on some decent clothes please?"

I frown. "What?"

"Clothes," she says. "Decent ones. We're going out."

"We are?"

She nods. "Half an hour. I'm starving." And then she walks out of my bedroom, acting all kinds of weird. We're going out? It's Wednesday. Since when? Did we have a date planned that I forgot about in all my excitement? Maybe _that's_ why she's acting off. Did I forget?

I roll off my bed and go into my closet in search of _decent_ clothes. I'm assuming she means nothing made of Argyle. I'm ready with five minutes to spare and head downstairs in search of Quinn, finding only a note on the kitchen counter addressed to me. She can't be that mad, can she? If she even is mad.

 _Rachel Berry,_

 _Tonight, we're testing your ability to remain patient.  
_ _I'm not answering any questions you clearly want to ask.  
_ _I'm waiting in the car, by the way.  
_ _Once again, I am SO proud of you, my little star._

 _\- Q_

I smile widely. This girl is special; she truly is. I grab my purse, phone and keys and then head outside to find Quinn, indeed, sitting in the car. Even she still calls it _the_ car. Something about it feels temporary to both of us, and I suspect it's to do with the looming threat her mother has placed over her when it comes to her relationship with me. There's residual guilt sitting on my shoulders but Quinn has assured me that time and time again that this decision is hers and _she wants me_.

The car is already running when I get in, and she's listening to music I don't recognise. She has an alternative side and she's a fan of indie, singer/songwriter music when she's not listening to pop. The second selection of songs from our first date is evidence of that. After a quick glance at me to check I'm settled and secure, she shifts the car into gear.

"What is this?" I ask, gesturing at the general centre console, clearly referring to the music.

She doesn't respond.

I frown.

Oh. _Oh_.

"Are you also not answering any general questions?"

Silence.

I shake my head. "Well, if you're not going to answer any of my questions, I'm just going to _tell_ you things and feel free to respond whenever you feel like it," I say, angling my body to face her. I intend to shock her. "I've spent years waiting for today. As you know, Broadway has been my ultimate dream. It's been everything I've been working towards since I even _knew_ what Broadway was. I have a plan, you see? I've had it for years, and nothing - _nothing_ \- has ever given me even the slightest hesitation on what that plan is, or made me doubt any of the milestones I set on my very detailed timeline. Nothing, Quinn." I take a breath. "Until you."

Her grip on the steering wheel tightens and I hear her gasp quietly. Good. She's listening.

"I don't for a second entertain the idea that _you'll_ ever _let_ me alter my course for you, but there are things that are wavering. Like, say... I intend to have sex with you before I turn twenty-five." The car swerves a little, and I smile to myself. Well well well.

" _Jesus_ ," she says under her breath, and I grin evilly.

"I had a plan, and you were never a part of it. I almost gave up on finding my person in Lima. I was fully prepared to see out the rest of my senior year as a single, driven person, with the sole intention of getting out of this place without completely losing my marbles. My plans were beyond here, and I wasn't expecting to find you here. Because, you see, I didn't see it coming. I didn't see _you_ coming, and it's changed everything." Okay, so this one-sided conversation is turning a lot more serious than I intended. "You have changed _everything_. There are things I would do for you if you asked. Maybe I'm naïve, and maybe I'm just a hopeless romantic, but - " I falter.

She glances at me.

"Is this what happens?" I ask, losing all my thunder. I'm _definitely_ shocking her now. "I remember you mentioned the way you bent yourself out of shape for Finn; that your entire life was so wrapped up in him that you forgot who you were. Is that - " I falter again.

Quinn places a hand on my leg. "Rachel," she says gently, breaking her vow of silence. "What happened between Finn and me isn't happening with you and me," she says, and she sounds so sure. "Because, you know exactly who you are. Rachel Berry is Rachel Berry without Quinn Fabray. You just choose to be who you are _with_ me now, and you have no idea how happy that makes me. I will never ask you to change. I won't let you, because I wouldn't want to be with anyone other than the real you."

"I love you." It slips out and she removes her hand from my leg.

"Rachel, I - " she starts, but she's interrupted by the sound of the ringing of her phone filling the car. I can see it's my Dad calling her from the small navigation screen. She sighs heavily but, ultimately, ignores the call. We drive in silence the rest of the way. We're going to a restaurant, apparently. Right here, in Lima, for everyone to see, and I internally panic as she finds us a parking spot. Silently, she turns off the car and gets out. She surprises me by opening my door, but she doesn't come anywhere near me after that. This is just so weird.

I want to reach for her hand, but she strikes preemptively and places her hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the restaurant. "Quinn, what is - "

"Ssh," she says, and my indignation spikes. She _did not_ just tell me to _ssh_. But, before I can even show her my sudden irritation, we're entering the restaurant and it all makes sense. My dads emerge from _somewhere_ , and I'm wrapped in a congratulatory Berrymen hug that settles the confusion Quinn built up with the way she was acting this afternoon. When my dads release me, I want to reach for Quinn but there's another person in my arms and _oh_.

It's Kurt. Kurt is here. And Finn. And Burt and Carole Hummel-Hudson. And Blaine. It's a celebratory dinner for both of us, apparently, and involves both families. Because Quinn is family. And, apparently, she's also responsible for organising this little dinner, as I find out from my Daddy when we move to our reserved table and take our seats. I sit between Quinn and Kurt at the round table, Blaine next to Kurt, and Finn next to him. My dads are next to Quinn, and then Burt and Carole rounding off our little circle.

Quinn is a little tense at first, and I reason it's because of Finn. Even though we haven't explicitly spoken about what happened between them in the sick bay last Friday, I have a good idea. They haven't spoken since, and I can't say I'm too sad about that. I love her even more for putting herself in this position, just to celebrate one of my achievements. She's uncomfortable for a few minutes, but I notice the moment she relaxes. She sits back, sighs, and then removes her coat. Kurt and I gush about New York instead of reading our menus, which prompts Quinn to order for me. She'll know what I want better than I will anyway. I'm habitually terrible at making food decisions.

Slowly, conversation starts to flow around the table. Carole asks questions of Quinn - they once lived together, after all - and she answers easily. She grows into the evening, abandoning the guardedness and enjoying the company. My Dad discusses William Butler Yeats with her, and Burt offers in his two cents that - I'm ashamed to say - I didn't think he had. Finn is unusually quiet, though that's understood. He does look at Quinn a few too many times and I subconsciously place a hand on her leg. She glances at me with raised eyebrows, but I pretend not to see. I'm possessive; sue me. I don't like him looking at what's _mine_.

What I _do_ find comical is the way Kurt looks fascinated by _this_ Quinn. His mouth drops open and his eyes widen from time to time. Quinn is literally blowing his mind with her candidness and, when she turns to look at him directly and congratulates him, the boy literally sputters. It doesn't help that she's wearing one of those happy, genuine smiles, which seems to be blowing his mind. When she returns her attention back to my Dad, Kurt tugs on my arm.

"I'm going to say this once and only once," he whispers to me; "Quinn Fabray is the only girl I will _ever_ consider going straight for."

I laugh out loud because I can't help it. Seriously. I lean in close and whisper back. "Believe me, I get it," I say. "Quinn Fabray is the only girl I ever consider going gay for."

He looks surprised by _my_ candid words, but I just wink, and then Burt laughs at something and his attention drifts.

I look at Quinn and she's happily discussing something with my dads. My fingers squeeze her leg, and she looks at me, our eyes meeting for just a moment. Our discussion in the car seems so far away, and I know we'll get back to it at some point, but this moment is important.

 _We'll always be okay_.

 _Yes, we well_.

* * *

In honour of Kurt's and my auditions, Noah decides to throw a party. Really, I don't think the boy needs _any_ excuse to have a party, but I have to admit I'm rather flattered. It's put together quickly, on a Friday night after the basketball game that McKinley loses, and it's supposed to be mostly just the Glee kids, which is what I prefer. I'm more comfortable with the people I know, anyway.

Quinn and I get ready at our respective houses, and then she picks me up. It's not a date, she makes sure I know, but she wants to arrive with me... because I'm her girlfriend and she just _wants to_. It makes me feel warm and _wanted_ and I love her. I love everything about her.

It's just after ten o'clock when we arrive at Noah's house, and the house is already vibrating with music and people. Quinn holds my hand when we walk in, gives it a gentle squeeze in the entrance hall and then drops it. I miss it immediately, but I'm not naive about what this is. We do the rounds separately, getting all the appropriate greetings from all the appropriate people. It's more than just Glee, I learn, but less than the usual Puckerman crowd. It doesn't take me long to figure out that majority are jocks who are obviously here for Quinn, and then there are the Cheerios and some other people I don't recognise.

Late into the evening, I find Kurt in the kitchen and we have another obscenely long, somewhat embarrassing, squealing session. We clasp hands and jump up and down like the little fangirls we are. This is an exciting time in our lives. In _my_ life. I've fallen in love and my future is spread out in front of me. This - this is a good life.

"We're doing the One Chip Challenge!"

Kurt and I both snap our heads towards the kitchen door when Mike sticks his head in and grins at us. "What's going on?" Kurt asks.

"Puck got his hands on a bunch of those hot chips," he says. "He's trying to find people to join him in the challenge? Are you guys keen?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say.

Mike waves a hand. "Just, come on," he says, and both Kurt and I go into the living room. People are gathering around really quickly. Kurt leaves my side to find Blaine and one look around the room tells me there's nowhere to sit.

A beat later, my eyes settle on Quinn, and she's already looking at me. She arches an eyebrow and I move straight towards her, unsure what I'm doing or what she wants, but I just know those two are the same thing. Without thinking about it too much, I slip onto Quinn's lap, just as she sits back to accommodate me. We both face forward but I do lean back against her a little too much for _just friends_. I risk a quick glance around but nobody seems to find it out of the ordinary. It's well established that Quinn and I are friends now. People are even coming to accept it.

I feel a hand on my hip and breath on my neck. I like this. I love this. I lean back just a bit more, feeling her breasts press against my back. It's all the more exhilarating because we're in public and I am literally _sitting on my girlfriend's lap_. In Lima, Ohio, no less.

Noah sets a red box on the coffee table in the centre of the room and commands all our attention. The rules are relatively simple and he explains them in the most complicated way. Basically, this is probably the spiciest tortilla chip in all of existence, wrapped individually, and the aim is to see if you can withstand the extreme heat from the pepper flavour. At the mention of the Carolina Reaper, I look at Quinn because she's proven to be particularly informed in this particular topic. She just purses her lips and says nothing, clearly already uncomfortable with this idea.

"I've got ten here," Noah says. "Which of you fuckers is brave enough to give it a go?"

One look around the room tells me more people are apprehensive about this than are excited. I don't blame them. I imagine the idea of eating something that has the potential to burn your face right off doesn't hold that much appeal to most people, as drunk as they might be. But, you know, I've never been one to back down from a challenge.

"I'm in," I say, and Noah looks at me with a wide grin.

"Awesome, Berry," he says. "We're going to use all our Jew _ness_ to slay this thing."

I just nod before turning my head to look at Quinn. "Do it with me?"

She sucks in a breath, the double-meaning of my words not lost on either of us. "No," she says.

"Please."

She shakes her head. "Rachel, no."

"I'll make it worth your while," I offer.

She waits a beat. "I'm listening."

"We'll bet on it."

"Oh?"

"Between the two of us, if you win, you can have anything you want... But, if I win, you have to sing a duet with me," I say, and her eyes narrow at me. I just smile as innocently as I can, just waiting for her to reply.

"I don't like this," she says. "We both know you're going to win."

I grin evilly. "I deserve to win _something_."

She raises her eyebrows. "Are you trying to tell me you're dissatisfied?" she asks, her voice low and husky and _that's not fair_.

"Are you taking the bet or not, Fabray?" I manage to ask, forcing myself not to squirm in her lap.

"Do I even have a choice?"

"Baby, you always have a choice," I murmur.

Her grip on my hip tightens and I smile to myself as I face forward again. She breathes out before she shifts. "Puck," she calls out. "I'll give it a go."

Noah looks much too excited by that, and I turn a glare on him that he doesn't notice. "Fuck yeah, Fabray!"

In the end, the challengers, besides me, are Quinn, Noah, Finn, Mike, Santana, Lauren and two other people I don't particularly care for. As soon as that chip packet is in my hand, I start to regret my decision. Why are we doing this?

"Okay," Noah says. "We'll just eat the chip - all of it, Hudson - and see what happens. There's milk if anyone wants it. The first to cave and go for the dairy is a fucking pussy." He says it so coyly, and I just imagine he'll be the first one diving into a pool of cold milk.

Quinn sits up. "I doubt it's vegan," she says to me, gesturing to the glasses of milk. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Are you backing out?"

"No," she says; "but my mind and body are telling me I should."

"What's stopping you?"

"My pride."

I giggle, and turn my attention back to Noah.

"Ten minutes," he says. "Get through ten minutes with no form of relief, and then you've completed the challenge. Everyone ready?"

"Fuck yeah," Santana whoops.

Quinn grumbles something behind me and I just smile that bit wider. Her bitterness is adorable.

"Okay," Noah says, ripping open his packet and removing a red, perfectly-shaped tortilla chip. He pinches is between his thumb and forefinger and waits for the rest of us to do the same. "On three."

"Why are we doing this?" Quinn asks, and I fight off another giggle.

What happens next is probably the best and worst thing to ever happen. Kurt films it all, which is why I can say that. But, seriously, as soon as that chip enters my mouth, I'm certain that hell erupts in my digestive system. I chew it bravely and manage to swallow, even when one of those non-Glee kids immediately spits it out and gives up.

It burns. It _burns_. I lean forward, bracing my hands on my knees as I pant. Breathing isn't helping, and not breathing just builds up the _pressure_ in my mouth. Quinn's grip on my hip actually hurts, and she's growling. I want to turn and look but my brain is too focused on the fire raging in my mouth, down my oesophagus and into my stomach.

Finn is practically bouncing off the walls, kicking chairs and pulling at his hair. He even punches the wall a few times. Noah is curled up on the floor, crying. Santana looks so unaffected that it irritates me, and Lauren is visibly trying to remain as stoic about this whole thing as possible. It's Mike who caves first, practically launching himself at a glass of milk within two minutes.

Noah caves next, begging for relief. I'm willing to look past my veganism just to get the sting out of my body. Quinn is quietly seething behind me, muttering obscenities under her breath. At five minutes, Lauren drinks two glasses of milk and Finn growls so loudly, I actually startle.

At seven minutes, Quinn is vocal. "I hate you right now," she says to nobody in particular, hiccupping. She has the hiccups. "Why isn't it letting up? Why? Just, why?"

I have enough sense to register just how cute she is, but then I double over again. I _want_ to drop to the ground and just cry because _why did I think this was a good idea?_ The other non-Glee kid gives in next, and then there are four: me, Quinn, Finn and Santana.

I sit up and stretch my back, trying to ease _something_. I look at Quinn. "Give in," I say.

She glares at me. "I hate you right now."

"Go on," I taunt, leaning in a little too close; "give in."

The hand on my hip adjusts, shifting lower and then higher, under the hem of my shirt and onto my burning skin. Okay. _Okay_. Her fingers brush over my skin and it distracts us both enough that the sound of Noah's alarm going off surprises us both.

Finn dives for a glass of milk and Santana casually shrugs.

"Do you want some milk?" I ask Quinn.

"If I drink that milk, does that mean you win?" she asks, her face pinched into a painful grimace.

"Yes."

"Then, no."

I sigh. "What if we drank water at the same time?" I offer. "That way we both win. Or lose."

She waits a beat. "Fine."

I stand immediately and go to the kitchen, aware that Quinn is following close behind me. I get two bottles of water from the fridge and hand one to her, looking at her face for the first time. Her pale skin is red in colour and her pupils are blown. She still looks _great_. How is that even possible?

"Drink up," she says. We bump bottles, and then drink. There's absolutely _no_ relief. I'd even go so far to say it makes it worse. But, what _is_ a relief is when Quinn pulls me into the bathroom, pushes me up against the door and uses her tongue to soothe every inch of my hot mouth. We aren't in there very long - people would notice - and then we return to the living room where Noah is recounting his near death experience. And they say _I'm_ a drama queen.

I resettle on the couch without Quinn. People have dispersed now, and the fact that Quinn can handle the heat has just made her that much _hotter_. It's almost as if there are more people now, and Quinn is their target, because she just proved how much of a badass she is by surviving the challenge. I can feel myself beginning to brood, which just makes me think about the moment in the car; the moment I told her I loved her and she hesitated. And now, as she sips at her drinks and _does the rounds_ , it's as if the entire conversation didn't happen.

Needing some fresh air, I stand and head out back. I walk right into the middle of the yard and settle down on the damp grass. It's cold enough to distract me from the lingering heat in my mouth that Quinn wasn't able to soothe, but the brooding still remains.

I look up when I hear quiet footsteps approaching. "Hi, Brittany," I say, smiling lazily at her.

She moves to sit down beside me, linking our arms. "Having fun?"

I can't bring myself to nod, so I just look up at the sky. What can I say, anyway? My girlfriend, who is gorgeous beyond comprehension, is _literally_ every boy's dream and, because nobody knows Quinn is even in a relationship, she has to field all their attempts to date her; bed her. It's annoying to see all these boys hit on her, and it's even more annoying when she decides to mess with some of them. It's getting worse the more she drinks and I really don't need to see it.

"Maybe you need another drink," Brittany offers after my silence goes on a beat too long. "I can get Q to make you one," she says.

"No, it's okay," I automatically return. "She's busy, anyway." I don't mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but Brittany picks up on it and her eyebrows shoot up. "Wouldn't want to drag her away from her adoring public."

Brittany's mouth opens and closes twice before she speaks. "Do you even know what she's saying to all those people?" she asks. "She's gushing about _you_. She's telling them all about how wonderful and talented and amazing her best friend is. If anything, it'll be _you_ beating away your adoring public by the time the evening is over."

I sigh, feeling melancholy settle in. It's the only reason I can think of for asking the question I end up asking. "Do you ever think it'd just be easier if we weren't together?"

"Probably," she tells me truthfully. "But I know you don't mean that. Rachel, you love Quinn." She says it so surely; so confidently. "I know it might be difficult sometimes, but it takes someone special to love a person who's broken, and that's you. You are someone who's willing to look past all of Quinn's cracks and fault lines to see the person inside. You have patience and a gentle spirit... you realise that she only _appears_ sharp and hostile, but she's actually fragile and needs to be treated with care. Which is what you do. She's lucky to have you, and she knows it."

"Then why won't she just _tell_ me?"

"Why do you want words?" she asks seriously. "Quinn is so much more than just her words."

I'm not entirely certain I know what that means, but it sounds important. Maybe it's the alcohol in my system or the hot pepper eating at my brain, but I force myself to take note of Brittany's words. Quinn is so much more than just her words. Quinn is so much _more_.

We eventually go back inside and I spy Quinn talking to Kurt. They look to be discussing something very animatedly and, as much as I want to, I don't interrupt. Instead, I go to the kitchen to get another drink and chat to Tina and Mercedes when I find them laughing at something imaginary. Let it not be said that Glee kids don't know how to handle their liquor, people.

The three of us go back out to the living room, and now Quinn is chatting to Brittany. There are boys around, and they approach Quinn from time to time. I sit on the couch with Mercedes and Tina either side of me and just _watch_. Right now, Quinn looks annoyed with the attention, and I note the fact that both blondes cast nervous looks my way one too many times.

It's really the last straw for me when the boy stalking towards her is Finn. Quinn doesn't see him at first, and her face literally falls when she does. The boy just keeps moving towards her, and I wonder what it is about the facial expression Quinn is currently projecting that says 'keep going on this path of yours' to him. It's obviously saying 'I am not responsible for your injuries if you come anywhere near me and say something stupid.' Doesn't he know her at all?

I growl deep in my throat as I get to my feet. I'm sick of people ogling her, and I sure as hell don't want Finn Hudson anywhere near her. So, before Finn can reach her, I move into Quinn's line of sight, and she beams at me. Is she trying to give me a heart attack? I watch her abandon her position beside Brittany and move towards me, leaving a confused Finn in her wake. Neither of us seem to care, because we have eyes only for each other. Quinn's smile is steady, almost bashful.

"Quinn?" Finn says, but she ignores him in favour of me.

When she stumbles towards me, her arms slide around my neck and, for a terrifying moment, I think she's going to kiss me. Thankfully, she doesn't. "Hello, Gold Star," she says loudly, her clouded gaze attempting to meet mine. "Do you have any idea how proud I am of you?"

I brave placing my hands on her hips. "I have an idea, yes."

She pulls me into a hug, her body flush against mine. It's one of those long embraces that might appear a little too intimate if you look too closely. But, then again, people are drunk and, even if they _are_ looking, Quinn doesn't seem to care and so I don't either. "I want you to know something," she whispers in my ear. "There is nobody - _nobody_ \- I would rather be with than you. Nobody. Not in Lima. Not in this world. Not even in this lifetime."

I feel my body relax and my worries subside as I practically melt at the sound of her words. Which is the reason I ask the question I do. "Do you want to go home?"

"Definitely."

Her lack of hesitation reverberates through me, and I swear I fall more and more in love with this human being who probably has no idea what she means to me. I want to tell her. I want nothing more than to explain to her how my entire existence feels wrapped all around her, and how this accomplishment of mine means nothing without being able to share it with her. It's too much, surely. We're young and we're so new.

Okay, so not _that_ new. We've been in each other's orbits for so long, and I think that if and when we did finally find our way to each other in this way - I believe in fate and destiny - it would always be for forever. We've been talking about forever from the very beginning.

Quinn releases me first, her eyes meeting mine for a charged moment, and then she's backing away. We say our farewells - we're leaving together, apparently, which makes sense because we arrived together - and then we go home. I drive because I'm less inebriated than she is. It's slow and Quinn's hands are distracting, but we make it home without fatally injuring ourselves or getting arrested. I think I could pass for just under the limit but every minute counts, right?

It's late when we pull in. I'm sure my dads are already asleep, and I have to repeatedly tell Quinn to keep quiet as she giggles her way into the house. I drag her to the kitchen, have us both take pre-emptive Advil and down a full glass of water. Or two. It's amazing to see the way her eyes get clearer with every sip. Which turns to something akin to arousal when she turns those focused eyes on _me_ with one of those mischievous smiles. Well. Okay.

Quinn sets her glass in the sink and then stalks towards me. "I didn't take my bag out of the car," she says; "I'm borrowing clothes." Then: " _Please_."

Doesn't she know I'll give her anything? At my nod, she grins happily, grabbing my hand and leading me upstairs.


	19. nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _sometimes i want to say it.  
_ _and there is nothing in english.  
_ _that will say it._

 _._

The world has finally stopped spinning, and my heart feels full: of pride and of love. Of _happiness_. There's no other way to describe it. I'm happy. Sure, there's all this other stuff going on in my life that I still have to face but, in this moment right here, I'm happy. With my amazing girlfriend.

"Okay," Rachel says, getting my attention; "I'm just going to say it."

I look at her quizzically, my eyebrows rising as I adjust the position of the sweatpants around my waist.

She lets out a jagged breath, watching me intently from her position on her bed. "Just, you know, the fact that you're wearing my clothes right now… I find it _very_ sexy."

I feel a blush creeping up my neck at the sound of that.

"I mean," she continues; "I know it's kind of stupid and _so not_ important right now, but I can't help it. There's just something about the fact that _my_ clothes are touching _your_ body that - " she stops, letting out a shaky breath.

I arch an eyebrow. "Well, Berry, you should know that there are other things you can use to touch my body."

It's almost comical the way she scrambles off the bed and moves towards me with purpose. She's never been shy of manhandling me, but it's the first time it's been like this. She grabs onto the front of my - her - t-shirt, drags me towards her bed and, essentially, throws me down onto my back. I let her, of course, but she _is_ surprisingly strong when she's determined. I don't think she even knows her own strength.

I let out a breath, which I suck right back in when she climbs onto me and straddles my hips. _Okay,_ _Rachel Berry_. I watch her run a hand through her hair, shifting it away from her face. She's perfectly still as she sits on me, looking down and studying my face in a way that makes my heart race. She's going to break me, and she knows it. I give in so quickly, it's sad, because I start to move before she does, my fingers eager to touch.

My hands trail along her sides, ghost over her stomach and back, and occasionally dip under the hem of her t-shirt, the skin-to-skin contact almost unbearable. Okay, so we've _touched_ before, but this feels different and I can't be certain why. My right hand slips under the fabric, my fingers dancing across the skin of her abdomen. Her muscles tense under my ministrations and, really, I don't think I could ever tire of this _exploration_.

I can feel her watching my face intently, enjoying every minute of it. In the end, she gives in too, falling forward and capturing my lips in a deep kiss, her loose hair curtaining around us. Just the action of kissing her is enough to get my mind and body firing on all cylinders. I can't help my smile, which just makes her kiss me harder, her tongue sliding into my mouth with ease as her hands glide over my shoulders towards my hair. I mumble something against her lips, and she pulls back slightly, her eyes still closed.

"Hmm?"

I let out a breath. I'm just so happy.

Before she can question me further; I have us both flipped, her back now pressed against the pillows and my body looming over hers. "Hi," she breathes once she's regained her bearings, her hands automatically reaching up to touch my face.

"Hi," I whisper back, smiling faintly. I'm a little dizzy but it settles quickly enough.

"You are so beautiful."

I don't waste another moment as I settle more of my weight on her, half-supporting myself on one elbow at her right side. My one leg slides between both of hers and, when I look into her eyes, I hear her breath catch in her throat. I wait - it feels so good - and she's the one to pull me down for another bruising kiss. My right hand drifts down to her hip, my thumb brushing over the tight skin beneath her t-shirt. _That_ , coupled with the feel of my tongue stroking against hers, has her purring beneath me.

Purrs slowly turn into moans as I work her body with my hands, and _ohmygod_.

My right hand slips fully under her t-shirt, my fingers spreading across her abdomen before I trail them down to her side. With such care - I don't know how I manage it with the way she's kissing me - my hand makes its way behind her, coming to rest at the small of her back, holding her against me.

It's like an assault on my senses, and I want to do something to _ease_ it but I also don't want it to let up at all. Not wanting to be outdone, I suppose, her hands leave my hair and trail down my chest - oh, _God_ \- and my stomach, her nails dragging over the fabric of my t-shirt. I let out a hiss and she shivers beneath me. When she lets out a long moan, it hits me right _there_ , and my mouth loses its steady rhythm against hers.

As a result, I drag my lips across the line of her jaw, down the length of her neck towards her collarbone. She's breathing heavily and it's doing things to me it probably shouldn't. My brain isn't working. It usually doesn't when Rachel Berry is in such close proximity. Her hands move around to my back, easily slipping under the fabric. I feel warm under her fingers, like I'm on fire.

"Oh," she involuntarily says when my teeth scrape over her skin, nibbling gently. It's pretty clear what I want to do; what I _always_ want to do.

The sound draws me back, and I look at her face. "No?" I ask, shaking my head as if I'm trying to get my brain to focus. The residual alcohol on my system definitely isn't helping.

"Lower," she says breathlessly. "I don't want to have to wear concealer."

My head spins with _l_ _ower._ What does that even mean? Just, all the sensations of her are so overwhelming and -

" _Quinn,_ " she pants.

My mouth descends on her skin _immediately_. Lower. Just, lower. It's all I'm thinking about as I use my fingers to move her t-shirt down, stretching the collar. I bite at her skin, the force of my teeth making her gasp. Her nails dig into the skin of my back, and she arches into me. The sound she makes scrambles my brain, and I'm desperate to taste her skin. I abandon her collar - I might rip it if I don't - and drop further. I reach for the hem of her t-shirt and lift, bunching it up just below her breasts and revealing the tanned skin of her smooth stomach.

I stare, dazed for a moment, before I attack her flesh like the crazed person I am. She tastes salty sweet and my world is, once again, spinning. I lick, suckle, nibble and bite, leaving marks on the skin over her hip bones and making her squirm in pain and pleasure. Her hands are in my hair, tugging my head this way and that, and she hisses loudly when I bite down particularly hard.

I pull back to inspect my handiwork - _mouth_ work - and grin in triumph. I meet her gaze. "You are mine," I say.

Her eyes widen a fraction before she's pulling me back up and kissing me into oblivion.

* * *

The plans for my birthday are... extreme. Rachel assures me they aren't, but I wouldn't really know, would I? The last time I properly celebrated a birthday, I was turning fourteen; joining the _adult_ world, as it were. That _party_ was a social event for my parents. They invited all their friends, showed off their perfect house and perfect family, and I was still making the transition from Lucy to Quinn, desperately trying to become the poster child my parents would love and adore. I don't even remember if I had any friends at the party, but it doesn't matter now because that life doesn't exist and those people definitely don't matter.

We moved to Lima the summer after that, and I started at McKinley an entirely new person.

And I intend to end at McKinley a completely different person to _that_.

So, as far as birthday etiquette goes, what I know and expect means nothing. Rachel intends to spoil me and I have no choice but to accept it. She has vigorous plans, which include a full week of celebrations. I'm not even kidding. She even hands me a schedule the Saturday after Noah's party, which details all the things we'll be be doing in the upcoming week. Admittedly, I'm still a little hungover from the night before, and I'm certain my stomach is complaining after I fed it a _firechip_ , but I have enough sense to take the offered sheet of paper from her and study it. I'm wearing my glasses because my contacts were feeling a little uncomfortable after Hiram and I got back from seeing Florence, and Rachel's looking at me as if I'm good enough to eat.

I clear my throat and return my attention to the schedule for the ultimate birthday week.

Sunday involves going to church and thanking God for the blessings in my life and the opportunity to be on this planet for another year, followed by an extended picnic lunch at the park, just Rachel and me.

Monday comprises of an afternoon of service. She has us volunteering at various places and visiting a soup kitchen and a homeless shelter.

Tuesday is family game night with Rachel and her dads. I'm surprised she's willing to risk it again. She _must_ really want to sing that duet with me, and it's obviously driving her a little insane that she can't seem to get me to agree. I love it.

Wednesday, all of Glee is skipping Glee Club - with Mr Schuester's express permission, apparently - and going to Six Flags to act like the crazy teenagers we like to think we are.

Thursday is a night at the movies. Rachel and I will go out to the cinema, sneak in our dinner and decidedly _ignore_ whatever is playing on the big screen in favour of whispering to each other and being obvious distractions with hands and, possibly, lips if it's empty enough for us not to be noticed.

Friday afternoon belongs to Santana and Brittany for _something_ , and the evening is just for Rachel and me. It's my actual birthday, and all that's written from Rachel is that it's a surprise and I should just sit back, relax and look pretty. _Also, you are telling me where that tattoo is, Fabray. Or, rather, showing me_.

Saturday will be breakfast in bed, a hopefully-easy Cheerios practice, followed by a relaxing, pyjama day, and then my party at Santana's house.

Truly, I'm exhausted just reading it over and, when I look up at Rachel, she's practically bouncing in her seat in her excitement. I smile widely. I can't deny her anything, and she knows it.

"Let the celebrations begin," I say, and it all starts with a lingering kiss.

* * *

Sunday is a great day. It's slow and lazy, and I get to spend most of it with my favourite person in the entire world. I do spend a lot of my time in church being thankful for the year past. I know I complain a lot about my life, but I fully acknowledge the aspects of it that are great. I have a roof over my head, I have food to eat, running water and a flushing toilet. I might not have all the love I want, but I have Rachel and damn if that doesn't make up for everything.

After church, we do homework. I have two essays due, a Chemistry problem set to complete and I have to get started on my Statistics project if I'm ever going to be able to enjoy this week of time-consuming fluff without devolving into a stress monster. Around lunch time, Rachel gets restless, which is deathly amusing to me. She really is very cute when she's trying to be subtle. She abandons her homework before I do and then heads downstairs. An hour later, she returns, and it's time to go, apparently. I haven't changed clothes since church so I'm good to go as is. She drives us to the park, and it feels different. _I'm_ usually the one making this particular drive.

Rachel leads the way to our spot. It's _our_ spot now. It's been ours since that first time we came together. To this day, I don't know why I brought her here the way I did. It's always been a private place to me - Finn doesn't even know it exists - but I still decided to share it with her... on that _first_ Sunday. I suppose it should have been a sign of things to come even then. What Rachel and I have has always been special, sacred in a way that I never quite understood until I just did.

I _do_.

I stand back while she sets up our picnic, just letting her lead and dictate this clearly thoroughly-thought-out day. She looks excited and nervous and she's so adorable; I just want to wrap her in a hug and never let go.

"Come sit with me," she says, and we settle down side-by-side. For the longest time, we just look forward and take in the silence of this moment. Slowly, her hand finds its way to mine, and I interlace our fingers, pale and tan skin weaving together in the most intimate way. This moment is important for a reason I'm unable to grasp at this time, but it _is_.

I squeeze her fingers. "Can I tell you something?"

She hums in response, her eyes finding mine.

I swallow nervously. "When I was little, I once asked Santa to ask my parents to tell me they loved me," I say quietly. "I didn't realise how they never did that until I started school and saw how my friends interacted with their own parents. My parents were never like that. They were never huggers or smilers or - " I pause. "I'm not - I'm not used to affection the way you are, Rachel, but I'm working on it. It's different with you, and I - "

She squeezes my fingers this time.

I _want_ to tell her I love her. I feel it; of course I do, but I can't. It's more than just laying myself on the line. It's more than giving her the power to hurt me; having her point a gun at my heart and trusting her not to pull the trigger. I - I can't do it. Everyone I've ever loved has left me: my parents, my sister, Finn... even Beth. They've abandoned me, and I won't lose her. My _love_ drives them away, and I won't survive without her.

I know it's different with her. I can easily tell Santana and Brittany I love them because it's nothing like this. Rachel is _it_. She truly is, and I won't lose her. I won't. I _can't_.

Rachel reaches over and kisses my cheek, which is the equivalent of words she doesn't say. _You're okay. We're okay. I'm ready when you are._

 _I love you_.

* * *

Monday takes me by surprise because I'm not sure what to expect. After Glee, Rachel and I go straight to the animal shelter. I mean, it sounds like a great idea, doesn't it? We get changed into clothes that can and will get dirty, and they explain a few things to us: how to feed the animals and how to bath them and all that. It's all going well, and I'm fascinated by the collection of animals - some a little creepy, I won't lie - but nothing prepares me for _this_.

Because, then, they introduce us to the puppies, and I'm certain I've died and gone to heaven. Honestly, it's a miracle we don't leave having adopted every single one of them. Really, Rachel has to pry them out of my hands and promise me we'll come back before I burst into tears. She's actually deathly amused by my brooding as we go to our next stop on our journey of good deeds. We dish out food at the soup kitchen, and we meet some of the most colourful characters I've ever encountered. Who knew Lima housed this many drama queens?

But it's our visit to the homeless shelter that truly affects me. Mothers and children, struggling fathers and even veterans... all of them with no place to go. I mean, I _know_ what it's like to have no home, but I was taken in by Finn and his mother, which I'll forever be grateful for. But this, seeing all of this, it's heartbreaking and sobering, and it merely reiterates the conclusions I came to in church the previous day. I don't know if that was always the purpose of Rachel bringing me here, but I feel a certain peacefulness settle over my heart. I'm luckier than most in _that_ sense, but -

It's obvious that, despite not having their own homes and limited possessions, these people have _so much love_. It's almost overwhelming the way they talk and laugh and tease and generally _don't_ complain and are just so thankful. Even the little kids we play with to give their parents a little breather have all this positivity and enthusiasm in abundance, and it's almost a slap to the face. It's _a lot_.

So, when we get home, I pull Rachel into my arms and just hold her. I hold her for endless minutes, just soaking up everything about her; basking in everything she represents: home. I hope she can feel what I'm trying to say without having to say the words. I hope she _knows_.

 _I love you_.

* * *

I almost die on Tuesday. Besides Coach Sylvester running us right into the ground, I come frighteningly close to losing to Rachel at _Scrabble_. I blame my tired limbs and my near concussion from performing a backflip and slipping on my landing for the obvious miscalculation during the game, but she takes it as a sure sign of progress on her part. She's going to get me to perform that duet with her, come hell or high water.

We pay _Pictionary_ next, which Rachel and I are dismal at, and Hiram and LeRoy are truly some of the worst winners I've ever encountered. We round off the evening with _Monopoly_ , which LeRoy and I _own_. Rachel pouts and Hiram pleads, and LeRoy and I can be suckers sometimes, but there are no loyalties when it comes to business. I've heard this game has been responsible for _murder_.

The moment I first yawn, Rachel calls an end to the night and we count our money. LeRoy bests me by only one hundred _Monopoly_ monies, and I just know he won't allow me to forget. He couldn't even let me win because it's my birthday week - how rude is that. We clean up, I get hugs and forehead kisses before Rachel takes me upstairs. I'm staying, apparently. We get ready for bed in turns - we're in a rhythm now - and then crawl under her covers and move so close to each other, we practically occupy the same space. I wrap my arms around her and she presses a kiss to my throat.

"Thank you for today," I whisper into her hair. "Thank you for _every_ day."

 _I love you_.

* * *

Six Flags is relatively empty on a Wednesday afternoon. Of course, there are people a plenty but it's nothing like the crowd of a weekend. I prefer it, really. The lines are shorter and there's more space to walk and... run. We're actually just kids at heart, all of us, and those little children come out like a force to be reckoned with when we see flashing lights and rollercoasters.

Rachel has a plan. It's the only way she believes we'll be able to do _everything_. I can sense people getting ready to say something in protest, so I take care of it, stealing the detailed agenda from my girlfriend's hands, folding it and placing it in my breast pocket. I smile sweetly at her. "Let's just play it by ear," I suggest. "Just enjoy it. It's my birthday."

She grumbles cutely, pouting slightly as she leans in close. "You're lucky you're so stinking cute."

"Yes, yes I am," I murmur, and then we head inside. It's as if we've just been unleashed. We go this way and that way, playing childish games, eating the worst kind of food and generally acting crazy. The boys each attempt to win me some kind of stuffed animal, which makes Rachel pout slightly, but I think it's cute. Even Kurt tries his luck at shooting down some stacked bowling pins to hilarious results. Finn and Puck compete for the _biggest_ stuffed animal imaginable, with Puck coming out on top and presenting me with an extremely large stuffed giraffe. Sometimes, I get the feeling he's genuine in his affection, despite his attitude and the fact he called me a bitch to my face. Can never be too sure with this one.

"It's almost as big as you are," he says to Rachel, and we laugh. _I_ laugh without a care in the world, absently putting an arm around her shoulders to ease the indignant frown on her face.

After we put everything in the cars, we hit the rollercoasters. There's a wooden one, a floor-less one - that makes me hyperventilate - and an inverted impulse one that we ride enough times for Mercedes and Blaine to throw up. It's really just the perfect day, and there's no obvious awkwardness between Finn and me, which is a relief. Whatever the hell is going on with him seems to be put on hold for today, and I definitely appreciate it.

We have pizza for dinner, finding benches near the carousel and claiming them as our own. I'm sandwiched between Santana and Blaine, with Rachel sitting on another bench with Kurt, Tina and Mike. I don't mind. This way, I can see her. While Santana is occupied with Brittany, Blaine is telling me a story about Friday night's impromptu party at Puck's house. As he speaks, I get the feeling he wants to tell me something very specific, and I give him my full attention.

"Kurt's video of the chip challenge," he finally says, and I tense for whatever reason. "Don't tell him, but I deleted it on purpose. He thinks it was an accident but it wasn't."

I swallow nervously. "Why would you do that?"

"He caught something in that video that I suspect you and Rachel aren't ready to have people know," he says, his tone calm yet serious. "And, as much as I love him, _he's_ not ready to know yet either."

I'm frozen in place.

His smile is gentle. "I won't tell anyone, Quinn," he says, and I breathe out slowly. "This journey is different and difficult in its own way for everyone. I know you probably have Rachel's dads and there's Santana and Britt, but if you guys ever want someone to talk to, I'm here, all right? I won't say I've had a similar experience, but I have had _an_ experience, and I think that counts for something."

I wait a beat before I slide an arm around his shoulders and hug him, surprising us both. He settles with a small laugh. "Thank you, Blaine," I say quietly.

He pats my hand. "Anytime," he returns.

When I release him, we're both blushing, and I catch sight of Finn looking at me. At _me_ , not Blaine. He looks perplexed, and it takes me a moment to realise he's confused by the fact that I was openly affectionate _in public_. Maybe that's what's tripped him up so much, since one of the bases for our breakup was that I didn't match him for affection. Well. It turns out I'm capable of many things when I'm with the right person.

When it's late enough for the excitement of the day to start catching up with us, Rachel calls it a night and we all head home after spending an obscene amount of time goofing off in the parking lot. I drop her off at home, get a long, lingering kiss for my troubles, and then go to my house. I crawl into bed, exhausted and content and happy and totally in love.

* * *

On Thursday, with Rachel tucked into my side as we ignore the film in favour of being particularly handsy, I mention to her that Blaine knows about us. She gasps loudly, and the only other person in the theatre sends us a curious look from her seat in the very front. It's dark enough for us to go unnoticed, and Rachel turns terrified, wide eyes on me.

"What?"

"He's not going to tell anyone," I assure her immediately. "Apparently Kurt caught _something_ on his video of the chip challenge, which Blaine deleted, by the way, and now he knows."

"What exactly does he know?" she asks, a slight frown on her face.

"I'm not sure," I admit. "He did offer us someone to talk to, if we need it, which is really nice of him."

She nods in agreement. "I suppose, if _anyone_ was going to know, I'm glad it was him and not Kurt or Mercedes."

All I can do is agree as I reach out and touch her leg. "Maybe we should have coffee with him," I say, my fingers trailing up over the denim. "It might be nice having another person in our corner."

She gasps softly when I reach the waistband of her jeans, my hand hidden under the hem of her shirt. "That sounds like a good idea," she manages to say, her eyes flicking towards the large screen for a moment. She does a quick survey of our surroundings - empty - and then pulls me in for a kiss as she slides down, hiding us between the rows of seats. It's deathly uncomfortable but she tastes like popcorn and pasta and I can't stop myself from licking the roof of her mouth. I have this sudden, unstoppable urge to crawl _into_ her and just live there.

Maybe she has the same thought, because she pulls me closer, her fists closing around the lapels of my coat and propelling me forward.

"Why don't they have love seats?" she mutters into my mouth, and I just smile even though I know what she means. The armrest must be digging into her back and the other one is pressing against my thigh.

"It's probably to discourage this type of behaviour," I reply, my mouth moving to her neck and sucking gently.

"It's a futile attempt." She accentuates those words by palming my breast over my shirt and I hiss out a breath. _Rachel Berry_.

My mouth returns to hers. "It is, indeed."

* * *

Friday morning, I wake up to too many messages and notifications on my phone. I'm exhausted before I've even started to go through them. I wish there was some kind of application that could weed out all the disingenuous ones. I feel really hypocritical, even as I think it, because I used to be a person who cared about all of this. I used to worry about whether people liked me and how many notifications I got.

I'll admit that I sometimes still do, but my experience with Beth and the subsequent fall from grace really put things into perspective for me. All those people who write on your wall and like your posts _don't care_ about you at all. I learned who truly cared when the world fell out from under me, and they were there to - not catch me - offer me a hand to keep myself holding on.

I ignore my phone for the time being and go through my morning routine. I go downstairs once I'm ready and head into the kitchen for some breakfast. This is the last time I'll be in this house until late Sunday. My bag is packed and I'm ready to spend this weekend with my friends and my second family. As apprehensive as I am, I'm looking forward to it.

But.

I almost forget.

I forget I have a _first_ family.

My mother walks into the kitchen while I'm sipping at my coffee. She gives me a look, says _good morning_ , and then moves to get herself a cup in the cabinet. I made enough coffee for her as well, but she says nothing about it.

She says _nothing_.

I drain my coffee, wash my cup and then head to practice. I don't want to be in a bad mood, but I am, and it shows through the way I act during practice. My fellow cheerleaders wish me happy birthday and I force a smile on my face... until I get to my locker and Rachel is waiting for me. I want nothing more than to fall into her arms and just _be_ , but I resist the urge.

"Hello, you," she says, smiling gently and putting out her hand. Then: "Come with me."

I go willingly, and she takes me to the auditorium and into the back. I've been in here once before but Rachel seems to know her way around, given her roles in every school production we've ever had. We go into what must be the green room and she closes and locks the door before pushing me down onto the couch and straddling my legs.

"So," she says, cupping my cheeks. "Santana says you're in a mood."

I sigh. "This Quinn-management is starting to annoy me."

She kisses the tip of my nose. "You love it."

I don't respond.

"What's wrong, baby?"

I clench my jaw, my hands sliding over her bare thighs and under her skirt. "It's stupid."

"Tell me anyway," she says quietly, her voice faltering under the movement of my hands. "I want to know."

I blink. "I think my mom forgot it's my birthday today," I tell her.

Her face pinches into something unreadable and, for a moment, I think she might say something to make me feel better. Like, maybe my mother has something planned for me or she's just buying time or something equally ridiculous, because we both know it'd be a lie. So, instead, Rachel says nothing. She rather kisses me, slow and tender, and I find myself forgetting all about my mother and the lack of birthday wish.

Rachel calls an end to proceedings quickly because we have class to get to. I drop her off at her locker and, when I get back to mine, Santana and Brittany are waiting for me.

"Is it safe to approach?" Santana asks, and I roll my eyes.

At my nod, Brittany launches herself at me, peppering my face with kisses and shouting 'Happy Birthday' right into my ear. I squirm for a moment before I just accept it. I'll take all the good this day has to offer.

Santana punches my shoulder when Brittany releases me. "Happy birthday, Q," she says.

"Thank you," I say, offering her a knowing smile. She doesn't do the whole hugging thing when it's not really necessary. I turn to my locker, put in the combination and open it to a fountain of letters and birthday cards that come pouring out and litter the floor. "Oh."

Brittany squeals in excitement and Santana groans. "Seriously?"

I'm as surprised as the next person.

Santana bends first to retrieve one without an envelope. "'Dear Quinn,'" she reads. "'You are very pretty. Happy birthday. Hope you have a great day! Love from your Secret Admirer.'" She pretends to gag. "Something tells me you're going to have a lot of 'Secret Admirers' today."

"Is there a sign on my forehead that tells people I _want_ to be secretly admired?"

"There _isn't_ one," Santana says, just as Brittany says, "Yes, Q. You're so pretty."

I smile at them both, and then the three of us bend to retrieve the cards. I don't have time for them right now, and I wonder if I ever will. Not today. Today is already filled with _enough_. I have to fend off people a plenty as I move through my day, forcing smiles and ignoring pleading looks. Most of them are going to be at the party tomorrow anyway.

Rachel steals me away for lunch and we go back to that green room. I want to say we spend most of our time eating and talking, but we mainly just make-out, which is apparently allowed because it's my birthday. I get to touch breasts and thighs because it's my birthday. I get to grind my hips against hers because it's my birthday and _oh God, we can't be doing this at school_. I'm a hot mess when I get back to class, decidedly uncomfortable in my clothing but I push through because then it's Glee, and Rachel is wearing one of her extremely unsubtle, secretive smiles.

Mr Schuester wishes me a happy birthday, and then starts the lesson. We perform an upbeat group number and Lauren sings a heavy metal song that hurts my ears more than I'd care to admit before Rachel mentions to Mr Schuester that she, Santana, Brittany, Mercedes, Tina, Kurt and Blaine prepared _something else_. Of course, he offers them the floor.

"So, seeing as it's Quinn's birthday today, a few of us have decided to sing her a little something," Rachel says, and my smile is so wide, my cheeks hurt. "Brittany picked the song, Blaine and I worked on the arrangement." She looks at me. "I hope you enjoy it, ba - " she stops suddenly, and coughs violently. "Uh, happy birthday," she says, recovering and stepping back into position. I smile widely, Santana snickers and Blaine places a knowing and sympathetic hand on her shoulder. _That's_ one sure way to give us away; just calling me 'baby' in public.

Rachel takes a moment to centre herself, and then the music starts. Santana starts singing Kelly Clarkson's _Miss Independent_ first, her tone so full of sass. " _Miss independent, Miss self-sufficient, Miss keep-your-distance, Miss unafraid, Miss out-of-my-way, Miss don't-let-a-man-interfere, no_."

Blaine picks it up, adding some grit. " _Miss on-her-own, Miss almost-grown. Miss never-let-a-man-help-her-off-her-throne. So, by keeping her heart protected, she'd never ever feel rejected. Little miss apprehensive. Said ooh, she fell in love_."

She did, yes.

Tina and Mercedes break out into the chorus, and my heart jumps. " _What is the feelin' takin' over? Thinkin' no one could open my door. Surprise, it's time to feel what's real. What happened to Miss Independent? No more the need to be defensive. Goodbye, old you, when love is true_."

Brittany is next, her hips swaying to the beat. " _Miss guarded-heart, Miss play-it-smart, Miss if-you-want-to-use-that-line-you-better-not-start, no. But she miscalculated. She didn't want to end up jaded, and this miss decided not to miss out on true love_."

Tina slides in just as Brittany finishes off the last note. " _So, by changing her misconceptions, she went in a new direction and found inside she felt a connection. She fell in love_."

Mercedes and Rachel take over, belting out the words in a way that makes the hairs rise on my arms. " _What is the feelin' takin' over? Thinkin' no one could open my door. Surprise, it's time to feel what's real. What happened to Miss Independent? No more the need to be defensive. Goodbye, old you, when love is true_."

The music slows and all their voices drop to silence. My heart is pounding in my chest. After a moment, there's a slow drum beat, and then Kurt starts singing softly. " _When Miss Independence walked away, no time for love that came her way. She looked in the mirror and thought today, what happened to miss no longer afraid?_ " Blaine joins him and their voices have always gone so perfectly together. " _It took some time for her to see how beautiful love could truly be. No more talk of why can't that be me. I'm so glad I finally see_."

All of them sing the last chorus together, jumping about and getting into the song. " _What is the feelin' takin' over? Thinkin' no one could open my door. Surprise, it's time to feel what's real. What happened to Miss Independent? No more the need to be defensive. Goodbye, old you_ \- " everything stops, including my heart.

Rachel looks at me, and speaks the last line. " _When love is true_."

There's a lot of applause, and I'm freaking out a little, because _she fell in love_. I did, and I have, and Rachel is making it very difficult for me not to rush to her and kiss the air right out of her lungs. I give them all hugs, squeezing tight and lingering on some more than others. Glee should be over, but it's obviously not when Finn, Puck, Sam, Artie and Mike all move forward, and send us all back to our seats.

"We also have a birthday song for Quinn," Finn says and smiles at me in a way that I haven't seen since... forever. I can't help smiling back. It's almost automatic, and it just makes him perk up that bit more. All of them seem to relax under my reaction, as if they were worried how their sweet present would be received.

The five boys move into position, Puck grabbing his guitar, and then they start to sing Faith Hill's _She's a Wild One_. Puck strums loudly and Finn starts singing. " _They said change your clothes, she said no I won't. They said comb your hair, she said some kids don't, and her parents dreams went up in smoke_."

Artie picks up the next lines and I start to sway in my seat. " _They said you can't leave, she said yes I will. They said don't see him, she said his name is Bill. She's on a road and its all uphill_."

All of them sing the chorus together, and their voice harmonise surprisingly well. " _She's a wild one, with an angel's face. She's a woman-child in a state of grace. When she was three years old on her daddy's knee, he said you can be anything you want to be. She's a wild one, runnin' free_."

Sam sings the next lines, his eyes on me and a happy smile on his face. " _She loves rock and roll, they said it's Satan's tongue. She thinks they're too old, they think she's too young, and the battle lines are clearly drawn_."

They're all singing together again. " _She's a wild one, with an angel's face. She's a woman-child in a state of grace. When she was three years old on her daddy's knee, he said you can be anything you want to be. She's a wild one, runnin' free_."

Puck strums loudly, chancing a leer my way as he sings, and I roll my eyes in response. " _She has future plans, and dreams at night. They tell her life is hard, she says that's all right, yeah_."

The final lines are surprisingly poignant, and this entire Glee club is so lovely. They truly are. I'm oddly emotional, and I rest my head on Rachel's shoulder, breathing out a sigh. " _She's a wild one, with an angel's face. She's a woman-child in a state of grace. When she was three years old on her daddy's knee, he said you can be anything you want to be. She's a wild one, with an angel's face. She's a woman-child in a state of grace. When she was three years old on her daddy's knee, he said you can be anything you want to be. She's a wild one, runnin' free_."

When the song ends, I thank them - without hugs, I'm not ready for that - and look at Rachel. "Today has been a great day," I whisper to her.

She tilts her head to the side and drops the volume of her voice. "Oh, baby, the day is _so_ far from over."

I snap my mouth shut.

When Mr Schuester dismisses us, Santana and Brittany steal me away and we go for a mani-pedi and Santana tries to convince me to get a haircut, which would probably break Coach Sylvester enough to _break me_. The woman likes a certain length. Brittany decides on rainbow colours for her nails, Santana gets a hot pink - as per Brittany's request - and I settle for black.

"Like your heart," Santana quips, and I throw a foam _thing_ at her head.

We get smoothies before we go to Santana's house. It's where I'm supposedly getting ready for whatever surprise my amazing girlfriend has in store for me. I admit I'm slightly nervous, and my brain is taking me places it probably shouldn't. Santana and Brittany pick out my outfit - it's downright _sinful_ when I'm not wearing my coat, which they advise me to keep on while in the Berry home. I'll probably give one of Rachel's dads a heart attack, apparently.

When I do get to the Berry home, LeRoy invites me into the kitchen where he, Hiram and Rachel are ready and waiting with coffee and a _red velvet_ cake. I get buried in three separate hugs before there's a family hug around me, and I have to wipe away tears before I ruin my makeup.

They sing for me, each of them trying to outdo one another. They really could start their own Berry Band if they felt so inclined. When it's time for Rachel and me to leave, I get another round of hugs before we're on our way, with Rachel driving us to our secret destination.

"Tonight is a test of _your_ patience, Quinn," she says, but she knows it's not the same. I can handle being patient when _she's_ clearly expecting me to question her the way she would have. It's so much more fun this way.

Our destination is, to my surprise, the park. Our spot, to be specific. Well, our _altered_ spot, because it's been transformed into something magical.

She's set up the most glorious picnic I've ever seen, with throw pillows and fairy lights. _Fairy lights, people_. She's even set up a projector and a large blowup screen, like our own private outdoor theatre. She squeezes my hand as we move closer, and I see a picnic basket and a cooler perched in the corner, and a selection of books in another corner. There are extra throw blankets folded next to the cooler, and I don't think there could be anything more perfect than this.

"Rachel," I breathe, unable to find the words. "This is - this is amazing. God, I think I'm going to cry. Thank you. Thank you." I tug her into a tight hug and kiss her hair repeatedly.

Dinner is great, consisting of my favourite chilli-paste stir-fry, and the film is wonderful - _Just Like Heaven_ is one of my favourites - but it's the girl who makes it amazing. It's always going to be. It's almost cliched, the chocolate-covered strawberries, but it offers me the opportunity to nibble at her fingers when she feeds me.

When the movie ends, she switches to music, snuggles into my side under a throw blanket and asks me to read some poetry to her. I get through two pages of Walt Whitman before I abandon that, chuck the book over my head, roll onto her and kiss her with enough force to have her squirming immediately. My hands go wondering, slipping into her coat and sliding over the form of her dress.

Her tongue slides into my mouth at the same time her hands unbutton my coat, and she gasps when she realises what I'm wearing. It's probably the shortest, tightest dress I've ever worn, courtesy of Santana Lopez's closet. Rachel just stares for the longest time, before she's touching. Everywhere. She has access to the bare skin of my thighs and it takes me an embarrassingly long time to remember that I do too. I can't decide what to touch or where to kiss. I want everything. All of it. All of her.

In a surprisingly lucid moment, she reaches into her own coat pocket and pulls out a small black box. She moves it into my eye-line and my lust-filled brain does a double-take. "Berry, that better not be a ring," I manage to say.

She just laughs through a breath. "Happy birthday, Quinn," she says, shifting her arms when I lift myself up enough for her to hold the box between us.

"Open it for me," I tell her.

She doesn't argue and fiddles with the box for a moment, eventually revealing a silver _Nomination_ bracelet, which several links already installed. "Give me your wrist."

I shift my weight, and present her with my right wrist. After a few tries, she's able to clasp it in place, and I grin at her. "Thank you," I whisper, feeling overwhelmed.

"You're welcome."

I clear my throat. "What are the links?" I ask.

She pulls my hand close to her face. "Well, this is a music note because I think we wouldn't be where we are without Glee."

"Where? With me on top of you?"

"Exactly," she says with a giggle before moving onto the next link. "This one is a house, because you'll always have a home with me, Quinn. With _us_."

I kiss her cheek.

"This one is a gold star... for obvious reasons," she says, blushing slightly.

"My little star," I murmur, kissing her other cheek.

"There's also these little pompoms. I saw them, and I just couldn't resist." She smiles at me. "This one is a book, because I think books are where we're going to find your passion. Whether you're reading them or writing them."

I blink once, twice, before kissing the tip of her nose. She said _we're_ , and I'm so happy.

"And, this last one here is a heart," she says, nibbling at her bottom lip; "because I love you."

I wait only a beat of my heart before I'm kissing her lips softly, and then not so softly. She moans from deep in her chest, and I let my hands and mouth say the words I'm too terrified to voice.

 _I love you_.

* * *

Saturday is hell in _so many ways_.


	20. twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _make sure they have fallen in love with your spirit._ _first.  
_ _your body._ _second._

 _._

If I'm being honest, I can't tell if Quinn is having a good time or not. I mean, it's obvious she's not enjoying the attention because it's _a lot_. Only, it looks as if there's something else playing on her mind, and I have half a mind to drag her away and find out what's bothering her. But, alas, she's in the middle of a Cheerio crowd and I am not willingly entering _that_. She glances at me a few times, but her eyes aren't that playful they usually are in these situations. She's not even bothering to _fake_ it that well, though it does improve the evening goes on.

Quietly, I continue to sip at my drink on the couch, while Kurt and Blaine have a heated conversation about something or the other just to my right. I use the time to go through the day as a whole, and maybe I can figure out just from where Quinn's mood stems. I mean, to the untrained eye, there's nothing off about her at all, but I know her forced smile better than I know my own. Which, in my own concern, I'm wearing right now.

We were fine this morning. _Really_ fine, if I recall. It's not as if we actually _did_ anything last night. Sure, there was a lot of bare thigh on offer, but the rest of the body was covered. Tightly, but still covered, and I touched all the best parts. Even now, I can still hear her gasping in my ear and I can feel her heart beating against mine - our bodies pressed together so closely, our ribs were practically interlocked. It was a great night, and Santana and Brittany even handled the cleanup for me, so I could keep up the magic of the evening for Quinn. We returned home to a quiet house, crawled into bed and talked right into the morning. We discussed her fears about now being eighteen, and what that all means for her and her parents. She's going to make an appointment at her bank to discuss her options now that she's a legal adult.

This morning, we had breakfast in bed. It wasn't anything fancy, just some pancakes, sliced fruit and orange juice. She grumbled about my keeping bacon from her, but I received a lingering kiss for my efforts. She went to practice in a good mood, which I didn't expect to last through the torture Coach Sylvester surely put them through - given the upcoming Regional competition - but she did come back a bit dimmer. Not like this, though. She's almost despondent, trying _way_ too hard to participate and it's worrying me. We had lunch as normal, and then she and my Dad went to see Florence. I suppose _that_ could be when things started to turn. While they were out, I did some important vocal work and practiced potential audition songs. I have a long list that I need to filter through, and I intend to get Quinn's input at some point. She's always been unafraid to tell me what I need to hear.

She was exhausted when she got back, and she caught a nap while I worked on my Trigonometry homework. We were expected at Santana's at eight o'clock to help her and Brittany get ready for the party. It was all new territory for me because I've never actually thrown this kind of party before. Quinn was fine while we were getting ready, if maybe a little sleepy, but she grew into the evening when it was just the four of us bustling about the house, setting up the alcohol and the chips. Puck brought the keg over and the Glee Club arrived early enough to shower Quinn in hugs and well wishes. She was fine through all of that, present and genuine.

It takes me a moment to realise the genuine smile slipped off her face and was replaced by the forced one the more people she didn't quite know started to arrive. She fell into her Head Cheerio persona, and that's the person I'm seeing right now, even if it's falling short. I just haven't seen her in a while. I almost forgot. It's just... she isn't being her playful self. There's no spark and, because I'm looking as closely as I am, I notice. I also notice when she excuses herself and goes to the kitchen to get another drink. I follow immediately, downing my drink in one gulp. She's looking over the various bottles set out on the kitchen island when I find her. We're not exactly alone in the kitchen - there's a drunk couple making out against a counter - but I still move to stand right beside her, close enough for her to feel my presence.

True to form, Quinn Fabray startles slightly, and then smiles when she sees it's me. Her head leans in automatically, as if she's going to kiss me, but then she catches herself and shakes her head. There's a look in her eye that worries me, and I know I'm going to have to be the one to resolve it. Right here. Right now. I grab her hand and _tug_. She follows with no argument, and we leave the kitchen to head further into the house and away from people's prying eyes. I have this sudden urge to sit next to her at the piano like that first time we were here together. Once we enter the room, we don't even make it to the piano before she's dropping my hand and looking at me expectantly.

"What is it, Berry?" she asks, and there's a hint of irritation in her voice.

 _Okay_. "What's wrong, Quinn?" I ask.

She looks away. "What makes you think there's something wrong?" she murmurs.

"Call it fluke," I comment, even though we both know I know her well enough to notice when there's something bothering her. "But I know it's true. So, what's wrong?"

Quinn nibbles on her bottom lip, and I have to ignore how cute she looks in favour of trying to get to the bottom of this particular Quinn mystery.

I step towards her and reach out to cup her cheek with my right hand. "Baby, talk to me."

She places a hand over mine and sighs, leaning into my touch. "Nothing is _wrong_ ," she says. "I'm - I'm having a great time. I promise I am. I just - " she stops. "I feel a little lost," she admits. "I don't know who to be right now. With you, it's easy and simple. I'm just me. I'm _trying_ with the Glee Club, but I'm not sure I'm being myself when I'm out there, and then I forget which parts are really me." She shakes her head. "It's stupid."

"It's not stupid."

"I know I shouldn't be worrying about this right now but I can't help it," she continues. "I want to get better at being me but, the more I settle into this person I like to think I am, the worse it is... people still stare and Finn and Puck and Sam are just... I don't even know what they are right now. You saw how Kurt reacted at the dinner... Is everyone going to be like that just because I deigned to show that I actually have a personality beyond being a heartless bitch?"

Her exasperation is a little amusing, but she looks too forlorn for me to react to that. I rather just wrap my arms around her and hold her close to my body. Telling her to be herself right now won't do any good, so I just offer her this small comfort and hope she'll deem herself a little _found_ when we step out again.

It sort of works, I think. She's still somewhat guarded when she returns to the party. I watch her get settled into conversation with Santana and Brittany before I get myself another drink. I dance with Blaine for a while - Kurt is locked in what must be a gossip session with Mercedes - and I mention to him that Quinn and I would like to take him for coffee, if he feels so inclined. We make plans, and we dance _close_. If I weren't so sure both of us were gay - I'm pretty certain I'm gay, though I'm still trying to determine if there's any fluidity in my resolve - our dancing would be downright sinful. As it is, though, we're both just very good at dancing.

"I think someone can't take her eyes off of you," Blaine suddenly says, his mouth very close to my ear.

I stumble a bit in my drunken haze. "What?"

"Miss Fabray is _staring_ ," he says; "one of those stares that says she wants to eat you."

I _know_ that stare and, once I acknowledge it's probably, definitely, meant for me, I _feel_ it. I turn Blaine, so I can look for myself, and he lets me. My eyes rise to meet Quinn's, and she doesn't even bother to look away. In fact, her face transforms into something dark and her eyes scream across the room, filling the space with her obvious... arousal. I flush instantly, my heart rate rising to a dangerous level, and all I want to do is touch her; touch every part of her. Maybe it's the alcohol in my system, I don't know, but something makes me stop dancing.

"I have to go," I say to Blaine, and he just grins knowingly.

"Of course, you do," he teases. "I don't know how you can possibly still be standing here when there's someone looking at you like _that_."

I agree with him, kiss his cheek, give Quinn a significant look and then leave the room with a destination in mind. It takes me a few seconds before I'm aware of Quinn following behind me, and just the idea of it is already making my blood boil. I lead the way into what we've commandeered as _our_ room in Santana's house, and, as soon as the door closes behind us, Quinn's hands are everywhere. Even if they aren't, they feel as if they are. She has me pushed up against the door, and I swear every part of my body is on fire. Inside and outside. I'm burning. She's burning me.

"Quinn," I gasp, when her mouth moves down to my neck and she _sucks_. Hard. "Oh, wow."

She lets out a growl, and drags her teeth along my collarbone. My hands fly to her hair in an attempt to alleviate the pressure, but she just presses closer and I can barely breathe. It's suffocating in the best way because nothing feels close enough. I use my grip on her hair to guide her head back up because I want to kiss her; I just want to taste her.

As soon as our lips touch again, I groan loudly, feeling my tongue get drawn into her warm mouth. There's teasing and nibbling, and the type of light suction that sets my entire body on fire. She's amazing at this, and it's driving me crazy. Hands on my hips, she pulls me closer, her right thigh moving into the space between my legs. My response is automatic, the pressure of my mouth increasing as I grab hold of the front of her shirt and press down on her thigh. I let out a deep, guttural moan, and Quinn's grip on me tightens in response.

Deciding I want her horizontal, I start backing her towards the bed. Lips staying attached, somehow, we manage to maneuver into position, me on my back and Quinn hovering over me. Her own excitement is clearly evident in the way she's looking at me - pupils dilated - filling me with a type of warmth that makes me numb. I love moments like this. Don't get me wrong, I _love_ kissing her, but there's something deeply profound about the moments _before_. And, I suppose, the moments _after_ as well.

This moment is special, though I'm unable to put a finger on why. Maybe it's the way our bodies already fit so perfectly together, or the way she's looking at me as if I'm the only person in this great big world.

"Like what you see?" I find myself asking, and her face splits into a wide grin. Her eyes are so dark, they're almost a forest colour.

"I do," she whispers, using her right hand to brush a few strands of hair off my forehead, and the gentleness of the action is in such stark contrast to what she was just doing just moments before. "I truly do."

Something about her words feels heavy, and my chest tightens. I just - I love her _so much_. I used to be able to keep it in, suppress it. It used to be a slow burn, but now it feels like an inferno, just waiting to consume me. I love her the most when she's talking about the things she's passionate about. Admittedly, I know she hasn't really been allowed the opportunity to find and explore her passions properly, but she talks Literature and life in a way that makes me squirm with both desire and delight. Her eyes light up. They come to life, dancing in the light, burning bright, as if she can see the great big world in a way that's different to everyone in the world.

And when she looks at _me_ the same way…. well, that part doesn't scare me at all. It's _that_ part that scares me: the fact that it doesn't scare me scares me. Seriously. I'm that dramatic. It's too easy to lose myself in everything she is, which is frightening and also not. I _want_ everything she is, and I wonder if she wants the same.

 _Rachel_ , I scold myself, _you're drunk and horny and there's a beautiful girl lying on top of you... Stop thinking._

Breathing a sigh, I pull her head down to kiss her, but it's really more to escape her gaze. Her hands go exploring immediately, snaking under my shirt with purpose and leaving my skin scolding in their wake.

I like to think I have good control. In the general sense of the word, I definitely do, but not when it comes to Quinn Fabray. Her fingers are trailing fire over my skin, burning me; marking me. They move over my stomach muscles, making them twitch, around to my back and upwards. They occasionally brush the undersides of my breasts, but it's her mouth that gets much closer.

Quinn uses one hand to open the top buttons of my shirt, pulling it apart so she can pepper kisses against my skin. Down and down she goes, and my hands fly to her hair, my back involuntarily arching into her mouth.

It's a miracle she doesn't stop what she's doing, because I'm convinced I might kill her if she even considers it. The hand that isn't burning my back continues with the buttons of my shirt until they're completely undone, and the fabric is sufficiently moved out of the way. She kisses the flesh bulging out of the top of my bra once, twice, before she pulls away, looking more sober than she has all night.

Right. Of course, _this_ is the moment she decides to stop. When I'm needy and wanting and squirming beneath her. I try not to look petulant when she looks at my face. She's even retracted her hands. What is she trying to do to me right now? She stares at my chest, looking mesmerised by the up and down movement of my trying - and failing - to catch my breath. The look on her face definitely isn't helping. Then: "Can I?" she questions, her hands hovering, itching to touch as they await express permission.

All I can really do is nod, my own brain hazy.

Slowly, she snakes her right hand behind me, her fingers searching for the clasp of my bra.

"You might need both hands," I find myself telling her, and she lets out a breathy chuckle. I don't figure out why until she has the clasp undone. With one hand.

My mouth pops open in surprise - even _I_ can't do it with one hand when I'm _sober_ \- which is invitation enough for her to plunge her tongue into it. It's a rough kiss that slows to something deeply sensual. It's distracting enough that I don't notice that she's shifted my bra downwards and there's a hand cupping my bare breast.

 _Oh_.

I let out a gasp that she swallows, and then she's moving away. Her lips leave mine, and she pulls back to look at my face. It's distractingly slow, the rate her eyes drop lower, past my lips, chin, neck, sternum, and finally down to my chest. Her eyes are glazed, but they look very focused right now. I feel bare, on display, and my heart is hammering in my ribcage. I know I'm not as blessed in the chest area as some other girls, but it'd be heartbreaking if she's even slightly disappointed.

She's not. Not even a little bit.

I watch her eyes widen, her tongue automatically poking out to lick her lips. I stare as she stares, both of us breathing heavily. And then the hand she's already put in place squeezes. It's gentle at first, even a little hesitant, but _oh God_. I swear, my responding moan can be heard in Columbus. Thank goodness for the thumping music.

"Jesus Christ," she breathes.

I'm in a tangle of fabric and wire, and my clasp is poking me behind my shoulder blade.

"Quinn," I murmur.

She pulls back in alarm.

"It's okay," I'm quick to say. "I just - I want to take it off." Whatever it is. Dutifully, she rolls to the side and I immediately sit up to rid myself of the offending garments. In a few quick, jagged moves, I'm naked from the torso up and lying back down. I barely get a breath out before she's rolling back onto me and kissing me senseless. And her hands. God, her hands. Before I know what's happening, I'm tugging on her shirt too. I want to touch her skin. I want to feel it against my own. I struggle with her buttons, and she offers no assistance.

Instead, her mouth drops to pepper kisses over the swells of my breasts. Lower still. When her mouth closes around the tip of my right breast, her tongue swirling around my nipple, I arch upwards and lose _all_ mental faculties. Why have we never done this before? I swear I almost lift right off the bed when she rolls my left nipple between her thumb and finger and _ohmygod_. I abandon her shirt buttons and slide my fingers into her hair, keeping her head in place, increasing the pressure. She swaps her attentions and I gasp loudly, desperately gripping at her shoulders and digging my nails into her flesh.

"Quinn!"

Quinn moves lower still, her mouth moving over my stomach, nibbling and suckling until she reaches the waistband of my jeans. Her tongue slips under the denim, wetting my hidden skin before licking her way back up my torso until she's kissing my mouth again. It's the moment everything changes. The air sparks and everything starts moving much too fast. The lust, the desire, the _want_ take over my body and I have the sudden urge to rip Quinn right out of her clothes. I grab at her and we kiss so hard, I'm certain we're both going to bruise. Her hips are grinding, and I shift my thigh until it's in the perfect position between her legs. I can feel her heat and it shoots right up my body, and then straight back down.

We move together, hands exploring and sliding and squeezing and it's all too much. We're chasing something, and the world is spinning even if we're not. My hands slide right down her back and cup her ass and squeeze. She groans something unintelligible and the increased pressure almost sends me into oblivion. I hiss out a breath, breathe her name, and then her hands are dropping lower, as if I've given her express permission. Maybe I have, because now she's fumbling with the button and zipper of my jeans and _this is happening_.

"Yes," I pant. " _God_ , yes."

I feel rather than hear the zipper slide down, and my body is on fire. The rhythm of our hips falters as her hand starts to dip inside my jeans, hesitant and unsure but desperate. It's obvious she _wants_ to touch, but she isn't sure how. Her fingers trail over the edge of my panties and the room is starved of air, I swear it is.

"Please," I breathe, and now she's kissing me again, hard and fast and messily. Her hand is still poised, waiting, and I grab for her wrist with the intent of guiding it just where I wa -

There's a banging on the door, and we both freeze, panting and _extremely_ aroused. Santana's voice comes through the door, and it's as if she's pouring cold water over the both of us, violently bringing us out of our lust-induced haze.

"Oi, you ungrateful bitches! There's a party going on out here! Have sex in your own house!"

And the mood is effectively _killed_. Quinn doesn't even look at me as she lifts herself up and rises off the bed, stumbling slightly. She keeps her back to me as she fixes her clothes and attempts to smooth down her hair. When she does turn to look at me, her face is red, her lips are swollen and her eyes are fully dilated. It's obvious what she's just been doing, and the way she's trapped her bottom lip between her teeth or the way her eyes are staring at my bare chest isn't helping _me_.

"We should go back downstairs," she says, and then turns around again. I half expect her to disappear right away - this is suddenly so awkward - but she waits while I get redressed. This moment right here is sobering, because we _both_ know what would have happened if Santana hadn't interrupted. It was _going_ to happen. I definitely wanted it to.

Once I'm convinced I look somewhat presentable, I move towards her and reach out. She flinches at my touch and spins hurriedly, giving me the once-over. Silently, she fixes things I didn't: straightening this and smoothing that. When _she_ deems me presentable, she steps forward and kisses my forehead.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs and, before I can question her further, she's left the room - and me, reeling. What? Why is she sorry? I feel as if I have whiplash right now. Not ten minutes ago, I was hot and bothered and writhing beneath her, and now I'm cold and alone and confused. It takes me an obscenely long time to get it together and go downstairs, unsure what I'm going to find.

Everything looks normal, exactly the same as I left it... however many minutes ago. I feel _odd_. Nothing about this entire night has changed, but _I_ have. Quinn and I were just upstairs doing _things_ , and now the world is just going on as if it never happened. As if it wasn't _important_. I look for Quinn, just because I need to see her. I want to know if she's feeling what I'm feeling. I want reassurance that... I don't even know what. I just need my girlfriend to say something more than _I'm sorry_. What does that even mean? Why would she say that? Is she regretting whatever we were doing? I need Quinn to tell me she isn't.

Except, I can't find her. She's _nowhere_ , and I realise belatedly that it's by design. She's hiding, from _me_ , and I can't make it too obvious I'm looking. Because Quinn is _just_ my friend in this public place, and I suddenly understand what we were discussing earlier. It's difficult being yourself when you have to hide who you are. And I _already_ know who _I_ am. Quinn doesn't, even though I'm convinced I do.

But maybe I don't.

Kurt and Blaine keep me company and I drink a little too much in an effort to keep my mind from panicking about my hiding girlfriend. I consider texting her, but I decide against it. If she's adamant about staying away from me, I won't force her to... communicate.

Blaine leans into me, dropping the volume of his voice. "Something wrong?"

I blink. "Isn't there always?"

He shifts in his seat. "Want to talk about it?"

I sigh. "I don't know _what's_ wrong, though," I admit. "Do you ever get the feeling you're in way over your head?" I ask. "But there's nothing you can do about it? As if you're just in too deep and it's overwhelming? And you _have_ everything you weren't even sure you wanted until you did, and it's just _so much_?"

He blinks, clearly trying to find the words to respond. I don't think I'm making any sense to him - or myself, really. "Sounds... complicated," he finally says.

I laugh humourlessly, and he casts a worried look at me.

"What can I do?" he asks, and he says it so kindly, I might start crying.

I meet his gaze. "Do you think you can please find Quinn in a discreet way? I just - I need to know where she is, and that she's okay."

He pats my knee once, twice, and then stands and goes looking. I sit perfectly still. Well, I try to, but my leg is bouncing uncontrollably and I'm picking at the skin around my right thumb. To distract myself, I sing a song in my head, slowly moulding it to the beat that's already playing all around me. I'm already on to my fourth song when Blaine returns, looking grim and confused.

I resist the urge to jump up when I see him, but he squeezes in beside me and turns his eyes on me. "Did you find her?" I ask.

He nods. "Out by the pool, with Brittany and Santana." Oh. "And Finn and Sam and Puck." _Oh_. "And some others, as well.'

I blink. "How did she seem?"

"Quiet," he says. "She and Britt are lying together on a pool chair."

"What's wrong?" I ask, because he still looks confused.

"Does Britt _know_?" he asks. "About you two?"

"She does, yes," I say. "Why?"

He wrings his hands together. "She said something odd when I approached." At my raised eyebrows, he lets out a light laugh. "Well, _odder_ than usual."

"What did she say?"

"She said 'I know what it's like to be afraid of your own mind.'"

I frown. "What?"

"Exactly."

What the hell? I mull it over for the rest of the night, people moving around me and saying and doing things I barely register. When people start passing out or leaving, I want to call it a night and go upstairs. I _intend_ to lock the door, which means that I have to tell Quinn. So, breathing a sigh, I take out my phone and text her.

 **Berry: I'm going to bed. Do you want to come get the room key?**

Her reply takes a minute.

 _Quinn: I'm coming._

As soon as I get it, I start saying goodnight to the people who are still lucid enough to register it. I don't even bother to go outside - I don't _want_ to see whatever's going on out there - just visit the kitchen for some water and then go upstairs. I start getting ready for bed, going through the motions without having to focus on the missing presence of one Quinn Fabray.

I spend an obscene amount of time in the bathroom, just turning over Brittany's words in my head as I stare at myself in the mirror. _I know what it's like to be afraid of your own mind_. What does that even mean? Maybe I'm too inebriated to figure it out, or Brittany's too drunk and the words aren't supposed to make sense. _Quinn_ doesn't make sense right now. Nothing does. Not even what I'm feeling.

When I get back to the bedroom, there is a blonde human being already in bed, her eyes closed and her breathing even. Quinn shifts when I close and lock the door, and switch off the overhead light. We have to talk about it, sure, but I'm too tired for that right now. So, setting aside all that apprehension and confusion, I slide into bed and right into Quinn's space. Quietly, almost automatically, she slips her arms around me, breathes out and promptly (re-)falls asleep.

"I love you," I whisper and, a beat later, I'm also asleep.

* * *

I wake to an empty bed. I feel particularly cold and needy, which is a feeling that doesn't dissipate when I learn from Santana that Quinn decided to attend the morning service at church instead of the evening one she initially decided on, after all. Which, even in my hungover state, I know means that she didn't want to see me this morning, for whatever reason. Embarrassment, maybe. Guilt. Regret. Gosh, I'd be crushed if she regretted any of it because I certainly don't.

Because we stopped. It'd be an entirely different story if we hadn't, and I give Santana an unexpected hug for it. She squirms and fights me off, but she has to know that all of this mess with Quinn right now would be _so much worse_ if she hadn't banged on that door and brought an abrupt end to proceedings.

Santana, Brittany and I have a late breakfast, and I try my best not to let the fact that Quinn left me here to get to me. It's sitting heavily on my brain, and I'm worried. Santana and Brittany are occupied enough with each other and we're _all_ sporting headaches, so they don't notice. I'm exhausted as well, and I decide to go home earlier than anticipated. Santana lets me go with one of those looks that shows me she probably understands Quinn better than I do. And, I suppose, the thing that makes me feel even worse is that she probably does. I clearly don't _know_ why Quinn is avoiding me, but Santana does. Maybe Quinn told her, but I doubt that.

As soon as I get home, I throw my clothes in the laundry and then crawl into bed with a bottle of water and Advil. I need it on standby for this apparent shitshow of a day I'm about to have. I don't even know if I should contact Quinn first or not. Text or call, I don't know. I grab for my phone anyway, pull up her contact and begin typing. I draft two different texts before Quinn is the one to message _me_.

 _Quinn: Britt baked some vegan oatmeal cookies for you because they are your bacon, apparently. She thinks they'll make you happy, which is Britt-speak for 'I fucked up somehow and I have to fix it.' So... I'm coming over. We should probably talk._

 _Quinn: If you're napping, I'll just wait. Though, I make no promises that the cookies will survive the wait._

Despite how off-kilter I feel, I smile. It's so difficult not to when Quinn is involved. I don't even know if I'm mad, or if I _was_. Is mad what I'm feeling? Disappointed? Confused? All of the above. _Hurt_.

 **Berry: I'm awake. Barely.**

 **Berry: I will hurt you if you touch even one of my cookies. And I will know, Fabray.**

 **Berry: We should probably talk, yes.**

 _Quinn: I'm leaving San's now. Just have to stop and pick up something on the way. X_

I blink. Pick up something? Quieting my mind, I set down my phone, roll over and hug a pillow that smells like Quinn. It _should_ be Quinn. I try not to focus on the throbbing in my head or the pounding in my chest. I suspect she's scared - I am too - and she's probably worried. I just - she's not supposed to _run_. I thought we were past all of this.

I hear Quinn arrive. There's a spike in noise downstairs, footsteps on the stairs and a knock on my door. I grumble something unintelligible, and I hear my door open. I roll onto my back and sit up, my face automatically smiling, even if my eyes aren't really in it.

"Hi," she breathes, holding out a container and a bouquet of flowers. I spy tulips, carnations and hyacinths, which even I know represent an apology. "I come in peace."

"We're not fighting, Quinn," I say, shifting until I'm leaning against my headboard.

"It feels like we are."

"Well, if you hadn't run off this morning, we could have cleared it all up," I deadpan.

Her gaze drops for a moment. "Well, I suppose I deserved that," she mumbles, and then approaches slowly, as if I might pounce on her if she makes too sudden a movement.

I sigh, deflating slightly. "Sit down, Quinn," I say. "Let's talk."

As gracefully as she can, she perches on the end of my bed and watches me carefully. I think it's probably a good idea that we're sitting as far away from each other as possible right now. Quinn looks almost as nervous as I feel, and it amazes me that _I'm_ the one who's taking charge of this situation.

"So," I begin, wringing my fingers in my lap. I'm nervous, but also not. This conversation is inevitable; we may as well get it over with. "We should probably talk about what happened last night."

She sits quietly, letting me lead.

My breathing is shaky but I'm determined to push through. We _have_ to talk about this. "I won't sugarcoat it, Quinn," I say. "We were _going_ to have sex."

At the sound of the word, her eyes snap towards me, widening slightly.

"And - " I hesitate; "and I _wanted_ to." That particular confession is enough to still my movements completely and one glance at Quinn lets me know she's frozen in place as well. "I mean, _of course_ I wanted to. We were in the moment; we were a little drunk, and - " I let out a breath. "You're intoxicating. I don't think it's unfathomable that I would want it to happen."

She swallows audibly, and I keep my eyes on her throat.

"Did you?" I venture to ask, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden.

"Of course," she says, the words falling out of her mouth with ease. Something settles in my chest, and I risk a smile at her. "I was worried," she admits. "I've _been_ worried, and - " she pauses. "I thought I might have gone too far."

"You didn't," I assure her. I should have told her this last night, and we could have avoided all of this. "We both got a little carried away, and I'm relieved we were able to stop before…" I trail off, absently waving a hand between us. I don't miss the disappointed look on her face, which brightens the moment I say my next words. "I'd want to be in more control of myself when it does happen." I take a breath, steeling myself. "And I - I _do_ want it to happen, Quinn. We've been leading up to this, I know we have, and I _know_ I want you to be my first."

She just stares at me, and I notice her hands just itching to reach out and touch me in some way. I want her to. I just want to feel her; make sure she's really there. All of her.

"I want to be with you this way because I love you."

Her nostrils flare for a moment, and I brace myself for my next words.

"As sure as I am about the _who_ , I'm not as sure about the _when_ ," I tell her. "I don't think I'm ready, if I'm being honest. I want to. I desperately _want_ to, as you probably know from last night, but I think we should wait... until we're _both_ ready for this very important step in our relationship."

She stays silent.

"Is that okay with you?" I ask, needing to know. "I mean, is that what you want? I want to know what you want."

"Anything you want," she says, her tone serious and her eyes darkening. "I just want _you_ , Rachel. Anything you want to give, I want. Anything you want to take, I'll willingly give. It's as simple as that."

All I want is for her to tell me she loves me, and I don't know how to say that without actually _saying_ it. Can I just say it? Can those words just come out and the two of us can just deal with them as they are? Could it be that easy? It should be.

One look at Quinn's hazel eyes and I falter. Even _if_ I could talk to her about this, it won't be today. We've discussed enough today and, really, I kind of just want to go back to kissing her but I don't know how to do that.

She clears her throat, signalling she has more to say. "I'm sorry," she says. "About this morning, and about the way I acted last night. I don't want us to be drunk and out of control - okay, I kind of want us to be a little out of control - but I want to make it special for you."

"What about you?"

"For _us_ , then," she says, rolling her eyes. "I just mean that your first time should be special, Rachel, and I want to do that for you." She pauses. " _To_ you."

I blush, and then giggle.

She raises her eyebrows at my reaction. "Well, _that_ just proves you're _definitely_ not ready."

I gasp. "Quinn!"

She laughs out loud, her eyes closing for a beat. It's taken her a while to relax, and I'm just glad we can move on from the serious stuff. I just want her to move closer. I want to touch her. "So," she says, levelling her gaze on me. "I want to say thank you, Rachel. This entire week has been amazing, and it's all because of you. I've never - nobody's ever - " she stops. She takes a deep breath. "I know how lucky I am to have you and I know I don't say and show it enough, but I - I appreciate you and all you do for me. Particularly when I don't deserve it."

My eyes snap towards her. "Don't say that," I say. _God_ , is that what this is all about? She thinks she doesn't _deserve_ it. I think of Brittany's words and frown. Wait. What?

She ducks her head.

"Quinn," I say; "come here."

She looks up.

"Come here," I repeat; "and bring me those flowers and cookies."

She hesitates for just a moment before she _comes here_ , setting the container and bouquet down to my right side. I open my arms and she falls into me, her head coming to rest on my chest. I run a hand over her hair, practically cradling her like the broken person she sometimes has to remind me she is. She makes it easy to forget. We've had good days, and we have bad ones. I was hoping the good ones were outnumbering the bad ones.

"We have a decision to make," she says, sounding less serious even though her words are. "Tuesday is Valentine's Day, and Wednesday is our one _monthiversary_. Which one do you want?"

"Which one what?" I ask, frowning.

"Well, I want at least one of them," she says. "I know they're both school days, but I still want to do something special with you." She lifts her head to look at me, her eyes glassy and shining. "Or... I could take both, if you're so inclined."

"No," I suddenly say. "I want one. Okay. Uh..."

"Which one?"

"I don't know," I say. "Which one do _you_ want?"

She licks her lips, visibly thinking. "I have an idea," she says, reaching past me for my purse on the nightstand. Without explaining, she unzips it and takes out a dime. "We'll flip for it." She sits up and straightens her back. Gosh, she has such perfect posture. "Heads, I'm Tuesday and you're Wednesday. Tails, the other way around."

I nod my understanding.

"Ready?" she asks.

Another nod.

She grins at me, leans forward to steal a chaste kiss, and then she flips the coin.


	21. twenty-one

**Chapter Twenty-One**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _i have seven different words for love.  
_ _you have only one.  
_ _that makes a lot of sense._

 _._

Valentine's Day is mine, and our one-month is Rachel's.

Despite our talk on Sunday, I'm certain whatever disjoint we're suffering has been only averted and not resolved. She clearly wants something from me that I'm unwilling and unable to give her, though I'm still unsure as to what exactly that is. I mean, of course, I have an idea... but I'm not a mindreader. And, even if I was, I doubt I would be able to make sense of whatever is probably going on in Rachel's mind.

I spend majority of my Monday planning for Valentine's Day and executing all I need to, in order to ensure it all goes off without a hitch. My mother is suspiciously going to be _out_ , and I'm not going to question her about it. I'm going to put the fact that I'll have the house to myself to good use. I suspect she has a date she won't tell me about. I mean, _I_ have a date I won't tell _her_ about. We make quite the pair, don't we?

This year, McKinley is doing _a lot_ for Valentine's Day compared to last year, when they did absolutely nothing. Admittedly, part of my job as student class president was to delegate and put together committees to handle the two initiatives. The first, which I'm rather proud of, allows a person to purchase a heart-shaped Valentine for whomever they want, choosing the sender and receiver's name and including a short note. The heart won't be delivered to the respective party. Instead, all the hearts are going to be strung up in the corridors of the school and, if you find one dedicated to you, you can take it down and return it to your sender... and live happily ever after.

The second initiative involves Glee. Sam came up with the idea of having 'singing telegrams.' Essentially, senders can purchase a song to be dedicated and sung to whomever they want and three separate groups of Glee kids will go around during lunch to deliver them. There's only a set amount we _can_ do, of course, but I liked the idea so much I made sure it happened. Mr Schuester also believes it will help raise awareness about the club as a whole. Captain Rachel Berry was especially grateful, and she told me _plenty_ of times.

With her mouth. Right into my own.

I contemplate which initiative to go for when it comes to Rachel. A singing telegram seems the best way, seeing as she loves music and she's a sucker for songs sung for - and to - her. It has to be anonymous - well, as anonymous as it can get - and I have to slip the request in without anyone noticing. I'm part of _a_ subgroup for the telegrams and I make sure we're the ones who sing to Rachel. I just hope I can get through the song without completely giving myself away because she's a much better actress than I am. Still, I'm willing to risk it. I can't resist the temptation.

I've literally never been this excited about Valentine's Day in my life. I never used to put in effort with Finn, and his idea of romance involved coupons and breadsticks. He was always sweet about it, buying me a card and getting me flowers and chocolates. I don't know if it's different when there are two girls in the relationship or if _I'm_ just different when I'm with Rachel, but I just know I'm _trying_ this time. Maybe it's because it's our first one. I just want nothing more than to keep her smiling _all day_. It's exciting.

And, when I wake up on Tuesday morning, I'm literally buzzing. Before I get out of bed, I reach for my phone and immediately start to text Rachel, and then stop. No. This isn't part of my plan, and I vowed to stick to my plan. But I want to text her. I can't. I set down my phone, take a calming breath and then roll out of bed. I get ready quickly because I'm expected at school early to oversee the committees as they continue with the setup. I practically race out of the house, grabbing an apple on my way.

As soon as I get to school, I go straight to Rachel's locker. She doesn't know I know her combination, but I do. I glance around, making sure I'm alone, and then I get to work. It takes an obscene amount of time, but I'm done well before I have to meet with my committee so we can finish up stringing up all the hearts. We've managed to raise quite a bit of money, which we're planning on donating to the orphanage on Grayston Road.

It's a little embarrassing how many hearts are addressed to Quinn Fabray and a freshman boy, Murray Laing, laughs every time he picks one out of the bucket. I can only roll my eyes. What else am I supposed to do? I can only imagine what the other teams are thinking as they string up all the Quinn Fabrays.

"Do you find it weird?" Murray asks. "Or are you just used to it by now?"

I glance at him over my shoulder. He's young and unafraid, with a baby face. He's brave, I'll give him that. Not everyone is willing to ask me a question, whatever it is. "I don't think anyone _can_ get used to it," I say to him, deciding to be candid. "It'd be different if they were interested in me for _me_ , but they see only my appearance."

He nods thoughtfully, as he hands me another heart. "People can be superficial sometimes," he agrees. "But even you have to admit you _are_ pretty."

I frown at how simple the words sound when he says them. It's a compliment, but he's saying it as if it's just a truth. A fact. Like, he isn't at all interested and, instead of being relieved, it makes me turn to look at him. "Is that your objective opinion?"

"It is," he says simply.

I meet his gaze. "This isn't your trying to ask me out, is it," I say. It's not a question.

"Definitely not," he answers anyway.

I hear what he's not saying. I'm not his type, in the sense that my body parts don't interest him. "Well, that's refreshing," I say.

"It is?"

I nod. "Do you have anything planned for Valentine's Day?" I ask, switching topics.

"My friends and I are enjoying an evening of 'I Hate Valentine's Day,' and wallowing in our respective bitterness because none of us have - " he stops suddenly. _Girlfriends. Boyfriends_.

"Significant others," I finish for him.

He looks panicked for a moment but he eventually nods, and then he relaxes when I offer him an understanding smile. "Nobody really knows," he says.

"But _you_ know," I return, which is half of the battle, really.

"And my family, and my best friend. He's also..." he trails off, frowning slightly.

"My best friends are also gay," I say, unafraid of using the word. I don't want him to shy away from the word, even if I probably would.

"I know," he says. " _Everyone_ knows. It - it helps."

"I'm glad," I tell him, wondering where the guilt I suddenly feel is coming from. Santana and Brittany are just so proud of their love and their relationship that they're unafraid to hide it in the corridors. People _see_ and, regardless of what those people say, they just live their lives for themselves. It helps kids like Murray; makes it okay to try to be open; shows them that coming out in this place isn't the be all and end all. I can only wonder what _I_ would be able to accomplish if I were brave enough.

"Even if Santana scares the shit out of me," he comments, drawing my attention.

I laugh out loud. "You're not alone there, Murray," I say. "She scares me too."

He also laughs, and it's a happy sound, young and carefree. He hands me another few hearts, and I start putting them up. "Wait," I say. "If you hate Valentine's Day so much, why did you sign up for this committee?"

He looks guilty. " _I_ don't hate Valentine's Day," he confesses; "but _he_ does."

I raise my eyebrows. "A crush?"

He nods.

I grin. "Ooh."

He blushes beet red. "He doesn't know."

"Any plans to tell him?"

He shakes his head vigorously. "No ways!"

"Think about it?"

"Maybe."

I smile encouragingly.

"Do _you_ have plans for Valentine's Day?"

I smile at him, playful. "Oh, Murray, you have _no_ idea."

* * *

I'm waiting for Rachel at her locker when she finally arrives, unable to contain my smile. Honestly, just the sight of her is making me giddy and I'm not even ashamed to admit it... to her, only. She's dressed in a sinfully short skirt, knee-high socks and a pretty pink pea coat, with a red ribbon in her hair. She's fully embracing this day. "Hi," I breathe, resisting the urge to pull her into my arms and never let go.

"Hello, you," she says, giving me the biggest smile I've ever seen. It's blinding.

I hug her. Just to save my eyes.

"Baby, you're going to have to let me go," she whispers in my ear, and I force myself to release her and step back.

I drop my hands to my sides and take in everything I can about her. She's beautiful, really, in that way that catches you off guard. She doesn't believe she's a conventional beauty - she's probably right - but, to me, she's the most stunning person I've ever seen. Inside and out.

"Why are you smiling at me like that?" she asks, and it takes considerable effort for me to school my features as she turns to face her locker. "Quinn?"

"I'm just _really_ looking forward to tonight," I tell her.

She blushes, as if on command, and lifts her hand to input her combination. "Oh?"

I nod. "I have _so much_ planned for us," I say, and her eyes close for a beat.

"Do I get any clues?"

"Of course not."

She huffs, and then sighs as she turns the lock. So. Damn. Slowly. "I know today is your day, but does that mean I can't do something for you too?"

"I'm not against it, if that's what you're asking," I say, suddenly nervous.

"Good," she says, grinning at me and pausing in her locker-opening. _Jesus_ , woman, just open the damn locker. "So, you know, look out for one of those hearts."

My eyes widen. "Rachel, you didn't?"

"I did."

"Seriously?"

She nods. "I realise there are _many_ addressed to Quinn Fabray, but I promise to make it _very_ worth your while if you can find mine."

I suck in a breath. "Rachel."

She winks at me, and then swings open her locker door. She gasps out loud, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open in surprise. I just watch her face, waiting for her to recover. "Oh, my God," she squeaks, her head turning but her eyes staying. "Quinn Fabray."

"Yes, dear."

She lets out a breath. "Did you seriously just pimp out my locker?"

I laugh. "I would have used the term 'bedazzled,' but, okay, we'll go with that."

Her eyes meet mine. "Quinn, this is amazing," she breathes. "Thank you."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Rachel Berry," I whisper, and our eyes stay locked for the longest time.

It takes a shout from somewhere down the corridor to break the spell, which makes me move to stand behind her, uncomfortably close, and peer into the locker with her. It's _a lot_. She already had a mirror and several pictures in her door, but I definitely spiced it up. I kind of went crazy with the bedazzle gun this morning, putting on borders within borders. I added pictures as well, including our favourite kitchen picture. It's a small print because it's a risk having it there if anyone decides to look too closely. Even though we were still just friends back then, it's a very intimate picture. I get butterflies in my stomach whenever I see the way we looked at each other even then.

There are also battery-operated fairy lights hanging from the roof of the locker, with a plethora of gold stars lining the sides and back, and a curtain of beads pulled to the sides across the front.

"It really is amazing, Quinn," she says, turning around to look at me. We're standing way too close, but I can't bring myself to take that step back that I _really_ need to. "I never thought there would be a day I would actually be excited to visit my locker."

I raise my eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Thank you," she says again. "I love it."

I bite my bottom lip. "I was worried," I admit.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

She touches my forearm - all she'll allow herself. "I love it, Quinn," she repeats. "I love _you_."

I hug her again because I can't kiss her in this corridor, as much as I want to. I, once again, tell myself I'll do it one day. Before we leave this place, I'll meet her at her locker and I'll kiss her, and everyone will know she's mine. Everyone will know I'm happy and in love with this little human being who makes me feel as large as the great big world.

* * *

The entire Glee Club meets in the choir room as soon as lunch starts. I organised for coffee and sandwiches, which I make them all wolf down before sending them off in their little groups. I'm singing with Mercedes, Artie, Joe and Sam in the first group. Rachel, Kurt, Blaine, Mike and Tina make up the second group; and Finn, Brittany, Santana, Puck, Lauren and Sugar are in the third. They already know what they're singing, and they'll learn to whom as they move through the lists I compiled. I'm just hoping the school doesn't hate us any more than they already do by the end of this.

It's starts off well. Each song takes roughly six to eight minutes to execute, which includes finding the receiver, explaining what we're doing there, setting up and then actually singing. Joes yields his guitar, and we get through _Stereo Hearts_ by Gym Class Heroes featuring Adam Levine, _At Last_ by Etta James and _That's The Way Love Goes_ by Janet Jackson before I excuse myself to check on how the other groups are doing. I catch sight of Rachel's group just finishing off _All You Need Is Love_ by the Beatles, and I can't help smiling to myself.

I'm standing, arms folded, in the middle of the tables of the outdoor area of the cafeteria, watching as people enjoy the sunshine even though there's a chill in the air, when I hear someone say my name.

"Quinn?"

I recognise the voice as Finn's, and I flinch. I _really_ don't need this right now but I still turn around to look at him. "What's up, Finn?"

He clears his throat, and looks over his shoulder at his Glee subgroup. "Well, we have a singing telegram from you," he says, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

I shake my head. "But I was sure to remove all the ones for me," I say, because they would have spent the entire lunch hour singing to _me_ if I hadn't.

He shrugs helplessly. "I suppose this one snuck through," he says, smiling dopily.

I frown. "Do you know who it's from?"

"No idea," he says, a little too quickly, and I wonder if Rachel managed to sneak a song into the set. "We hope you enjoy it." He winks - Finn Hudson actually winks - and then steps back into position. I look helplessly at Santana and she just shakes her head. She clearly doesn't know from where the song came either.

But, really, from the first line Finn sings, we both suddenly just _know_. Everyone does. " _I've made up my mind, to live in memory of the lonesome times_ ," he sings the first lines of Ray Charles' _I Can't Stop Loving You_ , and please tell me this is not happening right now. I want to tell them to stop, but I don't even know what I'd say. This is so embarrassing, and everyone is looking. Including Rachel.

"( _I can't stop wanting you_ )," Santana, Brittany and Sugar sing.

" _It's useless to say, so I'll just live my life in dreams of yesterday_."

"( _Dreams of yesterday_ )."

And, now Puck is singing but it's clear the words are coming from someone else. " _Those happy hours that we once knew. Tho' long ago, they still make me blue. They say that time heals a broken heart, but time has stood still since we've been apart_."

Lauren picks it up, and I force myself not to hide my face. I must be bright red. " _I've made up my mind to live in memories of the lonesome times_."

"( _I can't stop wanting you_ )."

" _It's useless to say, so I'll just live my life in dreams of yesterday_."

Finn grins at me, and this time I do roll my eyes. What is wrong with him? " _Those happy hours..._ "

"( _That we once knew_ )," the rest of the group overlaps.

"... _That we once knew_."

"( _Tho' long ago_ )."

" _Tho' long ago..._ "

"( _Still make me blue_ )."

"... _Still ma-a-a-ake me blue_."

"( _They say that time_ )."

" _They say that time..._ "

"( _Heals a broken heart_ )."

"... _Heals a broken heart_."

"( _But time has stood still_ )."

" _Time has stood still_."

"( _Since we've been apart_ )."

"... _Since we've been apart."_ He cocks his head to the side _. Jesus. "I said I made up my mind to live in memory of the lonesome times. It's useless to say, so I'll just live my life of dreams of yesterday_."

"( _Of yesterday_ )."

When the song ends, I'm lost for words, and Finn looks at me with hopeful eyes. "Uh..." I struggle. "Wow." Because, _wow_.

"I know, right?" Santana comments, and I'm grateful for the interruption. "Come on, losers, we have like a thousand more songs to do." Finn hesitates, clearly wanting to talk to me about something - maybe find out my thoughts on the song - but Santana practically growls. "Hudson! Let's move it!" He casts me one last look, before backing away and disappearing through the outside tables.

"Well," Mercedes says, coming to stand beside me. " _That_ was uncomfortable."

I groan. "I thought I hid it better," I mutter.

"You did," she says. "I was just uncomfortable _for_ you."

I let out a small laugh, just as my phone vibrates in my coat pocket. I fish it out immediately and check the newest message.

 **Berry: You are MINE.**

I smile widely, and glance over at where Rachel is currently sitting, resting.

 _Quinn: And I'm about to prove it._

I watch for the moment her eyes widen and her head snaps towards me. I take it as my cue, and turn towards my group. "Are you guys ready for the next one?"

Mercedes nods her head, and checks the clipboard. "The next one is for... Rachel."

I smile internally, a picture of poise on the outside. "Oh?"

Mercedes frowns slightly. "Apparently."

"Hmm," I hum.

"Hmm, indeed."

I want to laugh, but I hold it together just enough to start moving towards where Rachel's group looks prepared to start on another song. We don't have much time to catch them, but Mercedes saves me by calling out for them to stop.

"Rachel," Mercedes says, smiling through her previous confusion. "We have a singing telegram for you."

Rachel's eyes widen and they decidedly _do not_ look my way. "You - you do?"

"We do," Mercedes clarifies, checking the clipboard again. "It's from, uh - " she looks at me " - does that say four?"

I drop my eyes to the clipboard. "Four-point-oh, yes," I say, and Mercedes frowns.

"Weird," she comments, before turning to Rachel. "It's from, uh, four-point-oh, which literally means nothing."

It means everything.

"Anyway, please, sit down and enjoy."

Rachel glances nervously at me, but she does eventually sit down on a tabletop. Blaine sits down beside her and grins knowingly at me. I don't know if I communicate to him that he needs to keep Rachel from flinging herself at me at any point before, during and after the song, but hey.

Joe strums his guitar, and I take a deep breath. _I'm_ leading this one, and I smile when the first words to _Secret Love Song_ by Little Mix featuring Jason Derulo leave my mouth.

" _When you hold me in the street and you kiss me on the dance floor, I wish that it could be like that. Why can't it be like that? 'Cause I'm yours_." I can feel my heart rate rising, even if the first few lines are slow and meaningful. " _We keep behind closed doors. Every time I see you, I die a little more. Stolen moments that we steal as the curtain falls. It'll never be enough_."

Mercedes picks it up, and I step back reluctantly. " _It's obvious you're meant for me. Every piece of you, it just fits perfectly. Every second, every thought, I'm in so deep, but I'll never show it on my face_."

" _But we know this. We got a love that is homeless,_ " Joe sings.

Sam sings next, and I cringe. Not because of his voice, but because he's singing to _my_ girlfriend. " _Why can't you hold me in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor? I wish that it could be like that. Why can't we be like that? 'Cause I'm yours_."

Next is Artie, and his voice is silky smooth, taking care of Jason Derulo's first part with practiced ease. " _When you're with him, do you call his name like you do when you're with me? Does it feel the same? Would you leave if I was ready to settle down, or would you play it safe and stay? Girl, you know this. We got a love that is hopeless_."

I sing the next lines, making sure I'm looking right into Rachel's eyes. " _Why can't you hold me in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor? I wish that it could be like that. Why can't we be like that? 'Cause I'm yours_."

Joe joins in, a certain grit to his voice, as he trades lines with Mercedes. " _And nobody knows I'm in love with someone's baby_."

" _I don't wanna hide us away_."

" _Tell the world about the love we're making_."

" _I'm living for that day_."

And they sing the next line together, giving me shivers. " _Someday_."

I sing slow and low, controlled in the simplicity of the words. " _Why can't you hold me in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor? I wish that it could be like that. Why can't we be like that? 'Cause I'm yours_." She needs to know I'm hers; nobody else's.

Mercedes goes for the big note, and completely crushes it. Rachel even looks at her in awe, and I'm a little jealous. " _I'm yoouurs_."

The rest of the song goes on in overlapping lines among all five of us, with Artie and Mercedes leading the runs, and Sam and Joe enjoying the raised tempo. Sam even spins me as we sing, but my eyes are decidedly on a certain wide-eyed brunette. " _Oh, why can't you hold me in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor? I wish that it could be like that. Why can't we be like that? 'Cause I'm yours. Why can't I say that I'm in love? I wanna shout it from the rooftop. I wish that it could be like that. Why can't we be like that? 'Cause I'm yours_."

And, finally, when the music dies down, I finish the song just as I started it, my heart thundering in my chest. " _Why can't we be like that? Wish we could be like that_."

Rachel is beaming at me and, before I know it, she's launched herself at me and I stumble slightly. The hug is quick - she risks pressing a kiss to the side of my neck - and then she releases me, her face giving away so much love and affection. Catching herself, she hugs Sam, Joe and Artie, thanking them for their lovely voices.

Mercedes then pulls Rachel into a warm hug, and immediately releases her, hands on her shoulders. "Girl, I have _so_ many questions."

And Rachel's unbridled affection she had for me moments earlier morphs into an unadulterated glower in my direction.

All I can do is laugh and laugh.

* * *

"I hate you."

I can't help my laugh, even as I feel Rachel slip her arms around my waist and press her front against my back. She's warm as she nuzzles her nose against the back of my shoulder, breathing me in.

"Why would you do that to me?" she complains, her hands sliding along my stomach and making my abdominal muscles dance. "I've had to field questions about my secret lover _all day_."

I casually stir the risotto in the pan one last time and turn the burner off, so I can turn and give her my full attention. "And what did you tell them?"

"What _could_ I tell them?" she asks, exasperated, and I slip my arms around her neck, kissing her forehead. "I had _no idea_ where the song came from and I was definitely flattered... And then I had to field questions about why I wasn't more interested in finding out who the song came from."

"Sounds like you had quite the day," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the corner of her perfect mouth.

She huffs. "Why would you do that to me?"

"It was all part of my plan," I confess.

She raises her eyebrows. "What plan?"

I pull her into a tight hug. "Nope," I say. "You're not getting anything out me."

"I could _try_."

I breathe out at the obvious meaning in her tone, and release her. "Go to the living room," I say. "Dinner's almost ready."

"And now you're sending me away?" She sighs. "Without even kissing me first, no less. Honestly, you're being a questionable girlfriend right now."

I arch an eyebrow. "If you keep up this sulking, I'm not going to feed you," I warn. "And I slaved away over those cashew and spinach stuffed shells and this _farro_ risotto with butternut squash and kale all afternoon." I'm exaggerating, of course, because I did most of my prep last night, but she doesn't need to know that.

Her eyes flutter. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

"Go," I say, and she goes. It takes me a few minutes to dish out all the food I've prepared onto the necessary plates and lay them all out on a tray. I'm nervous, yes, because today is Valentine's Day and we're alone in my house and I have a plan. I'm respecting her decision to wait - I think it's the right one - but that doesn't mean I'm not going to woo her as much as I can.

I find Rachel sitting in the middle of the carpet where I set out a light blanket and pillows for our own indoor picnic dinner. There's soft music already playing. It's a playlist I made last night, putting on all the most romantic songs I could find, old and new. She's absently singing along to Lana Del Rey's _Love_ when I walk in, and I can't stop my smile if I tried.

She gushes just the appropriate amount when I set the tray down in the centre of the blanket before she proceeds to torture me with content moans and her mouth working her cutlery. I know she's teasing me, and she knows it's working. Little minx.

"Thank you for dinner," she says, all innocence when I'm hot and bothered. "It was delectable." There's emphasis on the last word as she flicks her tongue, and it takes an obscene amount of control not to launch myself at her. _That_ is not part of the plan.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," I force out.

Her gaze meets mine. "I did. Very much."

I swallow nervously, and start to clear the dishes. I think she's mad that I haven't kissed her yet, and I'm not going to until I have her exactly where I want her. So, I make a few trips to the kitchen, cleaning up, and then bring out some vegan ice-cream for dessert. She squeals in surprise, and tortures me some more. It's amazing what Rachel Berry can do with a spoon, really. I can barely take my eyes off her.

When _Tattooed Heart_ by Ariana Grande plays on the music system, Rachel turns to me and gasps, abandoning her ice cream. "Quinn!"

I let out a small laugh. "Yes, dear."

She grins at the term of endearment, and then leans into me, her face a mere inch from mine. "I still don't know where your tattoo is."

I steal a kiss because I can't help it. My plan is failing. She's just so close. "It seems you don't, yes," I tell her, reading her surprise at the fact I kissed her. "I have to say you're being very good about not pestering me about it."

"I'm respecting your decision to keep it private," she says.

"But it's eating away at you, isn't it?"

"God, yes," she breathes.

I laugh, stealing another kiss. She's just too kissable, and she's so close, and her hand is on my thigh now and _why does she smell so good_? We kiss once, twice and, when I start to pull away - trying to get back on track - she follows, keeping our lips attached. This isn't part of the plan but I suddenly won't say no to this kind of deviation.

Eventually, I have to pull away because we can't have too late a night. We _do_ have school in the morning.

"I have something for you," I tell her, ignoring her pout. "I think you'll like it."

"What is it?"

"First, you have to get off me," I tell her, and she begrudgingly does. I stand, take hold of her hand and lead her to what was once my father's study. It's empty of his things now, but it still houses the baby grand piano I first started taking lessons on when I was four years old. All Fabrays had to have numerous talents, and the ability to play the piano was chosen as one of mine. My sister's was the violin. Somehow, I'm sure I got the better deal, though mine is decidedly more difficult to carry around.

Rachel's eyes widen at the sight of it because it truly is impressive. Nothing but the best for Russell Fabray, remember? "Are you going to play for me?" she asks, her excited eyes turning to look at me.

"I might even do you one better," I tease, and she dutifully takes her seat at the piano bench. I let out an amused chuckle as I sit down on her left side and lift the cover, revealing the perfect ivory. "I realise the first time I sang you a song, you had a bit of a freakout."

She scoffs. "A bit."

I smile gently. "So, I've decided to sing all my next ones in private, in case something goes wrong."

She just hums, her eyes shining with deep affection.

Before I let it overwhelm me, I take a breath and move my hands into position. I practiced a few times, but it feels very different now that Rachel is sitting right beside me; exactly where I want her. Despite my sudden nerves, I begin to play _Chasing Cars_ by Snow Patrol, in an attempt to tell her something without actually telling her.

" _We'll do it all, everything, on our own_ ," I sing, and she rests her head on my shoulder, her hand sliding onto my thigh. " _We don't need anything, or anyone. If I lay here, if I just lay here; would you lie with me and just forget the world_?" I adjust my position slightly, in order to make it easier to cross my left arm over my right to play the higher note. " _I don't quite know how to say how I feel. Those three words are said too much; they're not enough_."

Her hand tightens on my thigh at the sound of those lines, and I suddenly wish I _were_ a mindreader.

" _If I lay here, if I just lay here; would you lie with me and just forget the world? Forget what we're told, before we get too old, show me a garden that's bursting into life. Let's waste time, chasing cars, around our heads. I need your grace to remind me; to find my own_."

She starts to hum along with my singing. " _If I lay here, if I just lay here; would you lie with me and just forget the world? Forget what we're told, before we get too old, show me a garden that's bursting into life_." I stop to take a breath, my fingers moving over the keys at a slower pace. " _All that I am, all that I ever was, is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see. I don't know where, confused about how as well, just know that these things will never change for us at all_."

Now, my fingers are barely pressing the keys down, but there's still sound. I can hear our breathing. " _If I lay here, if I just lay here; would you lie with me and just forget the world_?" As soon as I've played the last note, Rachel sighs contently and places a hand over my right one on the keys.

"I would," she says seriously. "I would lie with you forever, Quinn."

I know this is the moment. This is the moment I'm supposed to tell her that I love her, but the words won't come out. I'm just so afraid of them, and they won't leave my mouth, even if I want them to. So, instead, I kiss her, slowly and deeply. I turn my hand and interlace our fingers, palm to palm. I never want to stop touching her. I just - I want her closer.

I pull away slowly, lips lingering. "So," I say. "I have something else planned."

She looks a little dazed. "Oh?"

I nod. "But you're going to have to get changed."

She frowns in confusion. "Into what?"

I take a deep breath. "A bikini."

Her frown deepens. "Baby, you do know it's February in Ohio, right?"

"Can you please just put on your bikini?" I say. "I promise it'll be worth it."

"Oh?"

"Do you or do you not want to know where my tattoo is?"

At the sound of that, she practically leaps off the piano bench. "Oh, my God! Okay, I'm going to change right now." She starts to go, but then backtracks. "Uh, I didn't bring a bikini."

"I brought it for you," I inform her. "I laid it out on my bed. Meet you back here in a few minutes?"

"You thought of everything, didn't you?"

"I did."

She squeaks again, and then races off. I wait a beat before I stand and go out onto the back porch to set up the next part of my Valentine's plan. I'm both nervous and excited about this part but I'm looking forward to it. Well, I look forward to everything to do with her. Deeming the outside ready, I go back inside to change into _my_ bikini and slip on a t-shirt over it. My feet are bare as I pad back to the library, sit on the piano bench and wait.

Rachel arrives five minutes later, clad in her own t-shirt with a towel in her hands. My eyes drop to her legs immediately and they widen. Did she _always_ have those? "Uh, Quinn," she says, and my gaze snaps up. "My eyes are up here, baby."

I flush instantly. "Well, I don't want to _touch_ your eyes."

Now, it's her turn to blush. "What are we doing?"

I rise to my feet slowly, a thin scarf in my hand. "Well, first, you're going to have to put this on."

She raises her eyebrows. "Are you being serious?"

"As a heart attack."

She sighs dramatically. "You're lucky I trust you."

"I am, yes," I say as I move towards her. As gently as I can, I blindfold her, tying a loose knot behind her head. I can't resist kissing her and, after her initial surprise, she kisses me back, attempting to slide her tongue into my mouth. I pull back. "Na ah," I murmur, desperately trying to ignore her pout. "Not yet." I place my hands on her shoulders and turn her slowly. Carefully, I guide her towards the back of the house and out the glass sliding doors onto the wooden porch. I bring us to a stop. "Don't move," I tell her, reluctantly removing my hands.

I make quick work of increasing the volume on the music and retrieving the heart Valentine I painstakingly searched for after Cheerios practice. Really, I scoured every corridor of that school - there are many, by the way - until I found it. It didn't help that it wasn't even addressed to Quinn Fabray. My girlfriend is too smart for her own good, and I smile as I reread it for what must be the hundredth time.

 _Dearest Miss Four-Point-Oh GPA_

 _You're SO stinking cute, and you make me VERY happy._

 _I love you._

 _\- your little star_

"Quinn," Rachel complains, and I snap to attention.

I chuckle. "Almost ready." I move back to stand behind her, hold the Valentine in front of her face and take a calming breath. "Okay... you can remove your blindfold now."

She lifts the scarf so quickly, I have to laugh, even when she knocks my arm in her haste. She gasps at the sight of the Valentine and immediately grabs for it. "Oh, my God, you found it!" She spins to look at me, ignoring everything else. "I can't believe you actually found it."

"It wasn't easy," I inform her. "But, thank you."

She still looks mystified that I found the Valentine, and I get a long, lingering kiss as a reward. "I mean every word, you know? You are stinking cute. You do make me happy, and I do love you."

I lick my lips. "Honestly, I'm not going for cute right now," I say.

"Oh? What are you going for then?"

I spin her around so she can take in the back porch and she immediately steps back into me. She's never really been out here before, so she doesn't know we have a hot tub. Well, she does now. The lighting is dim out here - I set up fairy lights earlier - but I can still see the flush rising up her neck and cheeks. There's champagne and roses and chocolate-covered strawberries, and now my nervousness is back.

"Quinn," she breathes.

I hum.

"Are you trying to seduce me?"

I don't respond as I move around her and step up close to the hot tub. I can feel her eyes on me as I lift a leg over the edge and step into the water. It's warm, but I still shiver. Once both legs are inside, I move to stand in the centre and turn to look at Rachel. The hem of my t-shirt is getting wet, so I lift my arms. "Are you coming in or not?" I ask.

She jerks into motion immediately and practically skips forward. She also keeps her t-shirt on when she first gets into the water, and more of hers gets wet than mine does. Oh, to be shorter. She's just too cute.

"Hi," I say.

She smiles up at me. "Hi," she breathes. Then: "Are you going to show me your tattoo now?"

I laugh. "I _could_ ," I say. "Or you could find it for yourself."

"Oh?" she sounds, cocking her head to the side.

I swallow audibly, and just about manage a nod. Why is she looking at me like that? "Unless... you don't want to," I offer, backtracking nervously. "I mean, I don't want to assume anything. We really could just sit and talk. There's champagne and we can toast and - "

She interrupts me with her mouth, practically launching herself at me. I stumble backwards and my legs give out, forcing me into the water. I drop onto the bench, pulling her with me and our teeth knock together. I can't even acknowledge the pain because her tongue is in my mouth, sliding over mine in the most distracting way. She straddles my legs, pressing close, and I'm suddenly very aware there are only two flimsy pieces of fabric between us down _there_. Her fingers are in my hair, and now she's kissing my throat. Where are my hands? What am I doing with my hands?

I let out an unintelligible moan when Rachel sucks my earlobe into her mouth, and my hands move to her hips. Her skin is soft and smooth and so warm. My fingers dig into her flesh as her mouth returns to mine. She's kissing me as if we have all the time in the world and, right now, I believe we do. There is nobody in this world I would rather be with, and there's no place on earth I'd rather be. I want to tell her. I want to tell her so many things, but my mouth is currently occupied.

Rachel pulls away eventually and studies my face. There is so much affection in her gaze that I have to look away. She lets out a small sigh as she leans to the right and lifts a chute of champagne. She downs it in one go, surprising us both, and returns her attention to me. "Now," she says. "Let's get to work." Before I can even ask her what she's talking about, her mouth is on mine again, and her hands go exploring, touching my upper body in such intimate ways. It's when she starts rocking her hips against mine that I start to lose all sense of time and day.

Her fingers dance across my ribcage, tracing the individual ribs as her hands rise higher, skirting towards their ultimate destination. I gasp when she cups my breasts, and I feel a rush of heat settle between my legs. Oh. _Oh_. Her thumbs flick over my strained nipples, and _I can't breathe_. She presses hot, open-mouthed kisses against my neck.

"Rachel," I pant.

She growls, and it's the sexiest thing I've ever heard. "We have to take this off." She's very in control right now, and I'm at her mercy. It doesn't take her long to have me squirming, her hands roaming to all the right places. All too quickly, she wants to touch my skin, and it's the _biggest_ struggle to get my t-shirt off. And then hers goes, and we fling them onto the floor without a care in the world.

Rachel is on me again, hands claiming me as she rocks her hips against mine, displacing water and water-logging the strawberries. The fact that she doesn't care turns me on just that bit more, and I kiss her harder, my fingers digging into the flesh of her back. She seems to have forgotten about the tattoo, and I'm not complaining. She would have to remove _more_ clothing to see it, and I'm already down to my purple and strapless bikini top and bottoms.

It's when she starts to shift my top downwards that I tilt my head back, trying to catch my breath. I'm failing miserably because she's sucking on my pulse point and _good God_ , why is she so good at that? It's an assault to the senses, and I'm panting and moaning and saying her name... but I still _hear_ it. A sound. A foreign one.

"Did you hear that?" I suddenly ask, my heart rate peaking.

She hums, lips remaining against my neck.

"Rachel," I say, pulling back. "Did you hear that?"

"Quinn," she whines.

"Just wait," I murmur, using my hands to push her away. "Tell me, can you hear that?"

She's breathing heavily as she pulls away completely, looking thoroughly put out. She's flushed and red and swollen in all the delicious ways. I want nothing more than to continue kissing her, but I hear that sound again. Rachel must hear it too because her head whips around and we look towards the open sliding door. It sounds like... giggling.

We panic at the same time. Rachel moves completely off me so quickly, I'm worried she'll get whiplash, and she practically leaps out of the hot tub.

"Oh, fuck," I say, scrambling for my t-shirt as I lean over the side of the tub. "Fuck fuck fuck." It's still wet, and I don't know if I'll be able to put it on, but I try anyway. I feel vulnerable and exposed and so damn _needy_.

"Get out of the water," Rachel hisses at me. "We have to hide."

I abandon my attempt to put on my t-shirt and just hold it over my chest, protecting my modesty. God, this is so embarrassing. Rachel is doing the same thing, grabbing for her shoes and the towel and scrambling inside to... hide, I guess. I don't have the heart to tell her we're probably better off staying outside. I hesitate too long because Rachel comes back out, grabs my hand and tugs me forward and into the house. I stumble, the t-shirt almost slipping.

We rush through the sliding doors, take a few steps, only for my eyes to catch sight of my mother in the entrance hall... giggling. She's got her face buried in a man's neck as his hands roam over her dress-clad body. They're so lost in each other that they don't notice me, but I notice them. I _see_ them.

And I freeze.

Rachel tugs on my hand, trying to get me to keep moving. I _know_ we should be hiding. I know I shouldn't be standing where I am, in the dimly lit hallway with a wet t-shirt over my practically naked body, with my girlfriend's hand in mine; but I can't help it. Honestly, I can't.

I just stare. Because -

"Quinn?" Rachel pleads, pulling on my hand again.

I don't move. There's more giggling and the sound of 'Ssh,' as if my mother actually cares that I live here.

"Quinn, please," Rachel says.

It's when the newly-arrived couple starts for the stairs that I realise I'm holding my breath. I just watch as they disappear into the dark upstairs, their mouths meeting from time to time as they try and fail to keep their hands off each other. It makes me feel sick. Deep in the pit of my stomach, I feel all the dread and the panic and hatred and _please tell me this isn't happening_.

When Rachel sees them move out of sight as well, she huffs in annoyance and drops my hand. "What the hell, Fabray?" she asks, running a hand over her damp hair as her breathing slowly steadies.

I blink, turning my head to look at her. "Rachel," I force out.

She looks at me, confused at my facial expression or the tone of my voice. Both. "What?"

"That man," I murmur.

"That man what?"

"That man - he - he was my father."


	22. twenty-two

AN: Please be aware there are some darker themes discussed in this story, though not explicitly.

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _you are a story.  
_ _do not become a word.  
_ _one word.  
_ _because you want to be loved.  
_ _love does not ask you to be nothing for something._

 _._

The thing is.

Well.

You see.

Quinn laying eyes on Russell Fabray - in her house, kissing her mother - effectively kills the mood. Obviously. It isn't as if I blame her for that or anything ridiculous like that. It wouldn't do to get back into the hot tub and keep going when there are other people in the house. Also, just the idea of any parents - let alone Quinn's - having sex is enough of a turn-off for anyone. Suspension of belief is definitely needed and, as gorgeous as my girlfriend is, there are just some things you can't overcome.

The thing is that I don't want to leave her in that house with them. It's the last thing I want to do, but she insists. She looks almost catatonic, frozen and in a panic, and I _know_ I shouldn't leave, but Quinn practically shoves me out of the house, desperate to get me away. I barely have time to get dressed, which should make me angry, but the fear that takes over her face makes me keep my mouth shut.

"Quinn," I whisper, confused and worried.

"Please, just go," she rushes, eyes wide. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I'm so sorry." And then she shuts the door in my face.

Now, I _fully_ understand Quinn's fears. I do. I understand that being caught groping her girlfriend in a hot tub can put anyone in a panic, regardless of bigoted, divorced parents, who are apparently seeing each other again.

But.

The thing is.

Everything about the situation makes me irrationally angry. And the fact that she blatantly ignores my texts and calls after I get home just _pisses me off_. It's masking the worry I feel, pushing aside the haunting image of Quinn's fearful face. It's practically burned into my brain, and I can't shake the feeling that seeing her father has derailed Quinn's progress. So, I carry my rage with me as I fall into a fitful sleep and wake up feeling worse. The fact that my phone is free of Quinn's response also doesn't help, and I'm ticked off right through breakfast and the drive to school.

To the outside world, I probably resemble a fuming toddler. I huff and I stomp my foot from time to time, even as I glare resolutely into my open locker and try to stare daggers into the famous picture of Quinn and me. I'm irritated with her, sure, but I still _do_ understand, intrinsically at least. I _never_ want to see that fear in her eyes again. Last night, I could see everything in them: fear of her parents finding out about me, fear of her parents kicking her out, fear of her parents in general, fear of her father, fear of having to choose; just, _fear_ , and I don't want her to be afraid. Not in that way. Not in any way.

But I'm still pissed, and my subsequent huff is cut off by the only voice I know I want to hear.

"I'm sorry."

I let out a long-suffering sigh, and turn around to lay eyes at a remorseful Quinn Fabray. She looks positively miserable, eyes bloodshot and puffy with her mouth pressed into a thin line. She can barely meet my gaze, which brings my worry to the forefront of my mind and suppresses my annoyance. There's something wrong; something more than just last night. It's something more, and it's right there for me to see, but I'm missing it.

"Rachel, I am so sorry for last night," she says, her voice low and pained. "I had it all planned, you see. It was supposed to be perfect. I wanted it to be special, and then everything was just ruined. And I panicked and I got scared and I just wanted to get you out before he had the chance to see you because I have to keep you safe from him. I have to protect you from him, Rachel, and I don't know how to do that when he's in - "

"Quinn," I interrupt, a sick feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. Also, just, rambling is _so_ much cuter on her than it is on me and I'm getting distracted watching her mouth move... because now I know what that mouth is capable of. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," she presses, and there's something manic in her eyes now. It catches me off guard and I frown in response. "It's not supposed to be like this. It's supposed to be better. She promised me. She _told_ me he wasn't coming back, and now she brought him back into _our_ house." She sucks in a harsh breath. "I have to keep you safe, Rachel."

I blink. "Quinn?"

She shakes her head, looking equal parts forlorn and determined. It scares me; it _deeply_ terrifies me. "I'm going to make it better, Rachel," she says resolutely. "I'm going to make it right."

"Quinn?" I question.

"I'm sorry, again, for last night," she says. "I'm going to make it up to you." And then she's walking away, but I grab for her wrist, stopping her, and even I can't mistake her sudden flinch at the contact. What the hell?

"Quinn?" I ask, stepping towards her and dropping the volume of my voice. "Baby, talk to me. What is happening right now? What are you thinking?"

She doesn't answer my questions; just looks at me with the strangest expression. She looks... _lost_ , on both the inside and outside. I squeeze her wrist, offering her an anchor that she doesn't latch onto. Instead, she removes my fingers from her skin with slow, delicate movements. "I'm going to make it right, Rachel," she says, and she sounds hollow. "You'll see."

When she moves to leave again, I let her. I can only watch her go, internally panicking at the almost comatose look in her eyes. Okay. _Okay_. What was that? What just happened? Realising I'm probably not going to get any answers from Quinn, I take out my phone immediately, search my contacts and dial Santana. A healthy dose of Quinn-management is definitely needed right now. ASAP.

"Berry?" she answers, sounding confused.

"Where are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Santana," I say, my tone serious and unassuming. "Where are you? I need to talk to you about something."

She sobers immediately, and I can practically feel her spine straighten at the sound of my words. "What's wrong?"

"It's Quinn," I tell her immediately. "Something's wrong with Quinn."

"What?" I can hear the tension in her voice. "Why? What happened?"

"I'm not sure," I say, slamming my locker shut. "Are you in the Cheerios' locker room? Can I come there? I'm coming anyway."

"Uh, yeah, Britt and I are here," she says, before she murmurs something unintelligible to someone who isn't me. When she's back, her voice is clearer. "What's wrong with Quinn? We just saw her at practice. She was acting a little extra bitchy than usual, but I assumed it was to do with how bad you are in bed."

"Santana," I say, keeping myself calm. "I'm trying to be serious here. We saw Quinn's father yesterday."

She gasps, like in one of those comedic, exaggerated ways that is unexpected and _real_. "What did you just say?"

"Quinn's father," I repeat. "He - he was at the house last night."

"Shit," she hisses. "Oh, fuck, Berry, why didn't you tell me?" she snaps, and there are more muffled sounds. It's almost as if she shifting into protect-Quinn mode, somewhat of a default setting on the Latina. I've never understood their friendship, and I imagine I never will. They were almost _forced_ together and, as many times as they seem to clash - strong personalities tend to do that - they're fierce protectors of each other.

"I'm telling you now."

"You don't understand - "

"Obviously."

"Hey, don't get pissy with me," she says, sounding irritated. "You don't understand, and that's not your fault. You weren't there for the Russell Fabray saga." She sighs. "Where is she?"

"I - I don't know," I admit. "She was just at my locker, rambling about how sorry she is for making me leave so quickly last night and about how she has to keep me safe and protect me from him and how - " I stop suddenly, that sick feeling in my stomach _exploding_. "Santana?"

"Yes, Berry?"

"Why would Quinn have to protect me from her father?"

She ignores my question. "Are you almost here?"

I stop walking right in the middle of the corridor, my heart rate rising dangerously. "Santana?"

"Berry."

"Santana, no?"

"Berry."

Tears pool in my eyes. "Please?"

Santana sighs. "Just come here. Please."

I suck in a deep breath, steady myself, and continue walking. I keep the phone pressed to my ear even though neither of us is speaking. I can just hear her breathing, and it's the only thing keeping my feet moving towards a destination I'm suddenly unaware of. I end up walking straight past the door to the locker room, and Santana screams in my ear.

"Berry! You just walked past the fucking door!"

I stop, and backtrack. Santana opens the door for me, and I step inside. It's empty save for the two of us. "Where's Britt?" I immediately ask.

"With Quinn."

"Oh?"

"Britt knew she was in the library, apparently."

"Oh."

She eyes me, just waiting.

"Santana?"

"It's not what you're thinking," she says.

"How can you possibly know what I'm thinking?" I ask. " _I_ don't even know what I'm thinking."

She sighs, her eyes shifting from side to side. "Okay... so, it _might_ be what you're thinking."

"What am I thinking, Santana?"

"I don't know, Berry," she says. "What are you thinking?"

"Just, tell me," I say.

"I don't know what to tell you," she admits, tightening her ponytail in a nervous tick that I've never seen before. "I don't know what I _can_ tell you. Quinn is... _complicated_ , and she has to be the one to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"Tell you what we both know you're already thinking."

I let out a breath, suddenly overwhelmed, and she must see it in my eyes because her entire demeanour changes. It's suddenly guarded, defensive, and I step back in mild alarm. Santana the protector is _scary_.

"Listen, Berry, Quinn is a lot of things - broken and beautiful and so messed up, it's fucking heartbreaking - but she _is_ worth it," she says. "Everything about her is worth it, and I know you know that. But she's terrified. She's fucking terrified that you'll learn it all and then leave her, because the last person she attempted to let all the way inside _did_." She takes a breath, clearly stopping herself from saying too much. "Be sure, Rachel," she says. "Because, if she _does_ do this; if she _does_ decide to drop the armour and let you all the way inside; you don't get to take it back. Once you're in, that's it. And, believe me, it's where you _want_ to be, because she is _worth_ it.

"So, please, if you want her, then _have_ her, because you can. But, please, be sure... Be sure you're ready for all she is, because there's _a lot_. And, when it does happen and you learn all she is, you don't get to run. She's my best friend and I love her so much, so I'm warning you now, Berry, because I protect my own, and I care about you, and I will deny that until the day I die." She risks the smallest smile. "Be sure," she says again. "If you suspect, even for a second, that you can't handle it, leave now, because she won't survive it. She won't get through having you _know_ all of her, and then have you leave." She swallows. "She barely survived Finn, but we both know she will _never_ survive you."

And this is the moment I first realise that, as much as I claim to love Quinn Fabray, I really don't know her at all.

* * *

 **Berry: You're not in Spanish. Why aren't you in Spanish?**

 **Berry: So, you weren't at your locker for lunch. I waited. Santana said you took off after first period. I remember strongly discussing my thoughts on bunking with you, Fabray.**

 **Berry: Are you coming to Glee?**

 **Berry: Quinn?**

 **Berry: Baby, please don't do this. We're supposed to be celebrating today, remember?**

And, the thing is, she _does_ know. I'm certain she remembers. She's the one who made us flip a coin.

 **Berry: I hope you know you can talk to me. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.**

 **Berry: So, no to Glee then? Santana said you said you have something to sort out, and I hope it's all working out. Gosh, I have no idea what to say right now. I suppose I just miss you.**

 **Berry: Are you coming over tonight? We can postpone our date for the weekend. I just want to see you, and I think you won't react well to my coming to your house.**

 **Berry: I will, though. Don't think I won't.**

Finally - _finally_ \- she responds. I haven't even walked through my front door when my phone buzzes and I spy her name. I'm both relieved and angry. Without Santana assuring me that Quinn wasn't going off the rails or something, I think I would strangle the blonde when I next see her.

Which is apparently now.

 _Quinn: Are you home?_

I growl in annoyance. That's it? That's all I get?

 **Berry: Yes.**

I sigh, and go upstairs to my bedroom. I try not to think about where Quinn is or if she asked me if I was home with the intention of coming to see me. I try, and I fail. I have vocal work to do, and I have homework and I have a test on Friday that I'm ignoring. I still try, though. I do research for World Geography and start drafting my essay for English and I'm elbow deep in running through scales when my Dad gets home. He comes up to my room to greet me and raises his eyebrows at the fact that Quinn isn't here but, thankfully, says nothing. He's really a very tactile man, or Quinn might have called him. Who knows?

When Quinn does arrive, it's late; late enough that I'm actually beyond anger. I just pull her into my arms, ignoring the container of cookies in her hands or the obvious smell of alcohol and smoke on her clothes and in her breath. It's not healthy. All of this, it isn't healthy. At my sniff, she pulls back, her eyes widening as if she's just realised I can smell her. She blinks once, twice before she steps back, looking guilty.

"Britt sent these for you," she murmurs, handing me the container of cookies. As soon as I take it, she turns and goes into my closet. I can only watch in silence as she picks out some clothes, and then goes into the bathroom. A minute later, I hear the shower turn on, and I sigh. This is not what I was expecting of our one monthiversary - furthest from it, actually - but at least she's here.

I move to sit down at the end of my bed and wait for only a minute before I reach for my phone and send a text to Santana.

 **Berry: What happened tonight?**

I don't have to wait long for a reply.

 _ **Santana: So she did come to you then?**_

 **Berry: She just got here and now she's in the shower.**

 _ **Santana: Okay.**_

 _ **Santana: You're mad about the booze and the smokes, aren't you?**_

I take a moment to contemplate if I _am_ mad. I just - I don't understand, and that irritates me more.

 **Berry: Should I be?**

 _ **Santana: Honestly, I don't think you should be. When she tells you what she has to, you'll understand why (hopefully. you're a weird one sometimes, Berry.) Just, you know, she's safe here with us when she does it, I hope you know that. It's not as if we're at some dodgy bar getting hopelessly drunk... So, no, don't be mad. She's coping and, really, that's all I can ask of her right now.**_

 **Berry: Okay.**

 **Berry: Thank you for taking care of her, Santana.**

 _ **Santana. Whatever, Berry.**_

 _ **Santana: Tag. You're it.**_

I smile at my phone for a beat, and then put it aside and wait for the conversation Quinn and I are bound to have to happen. I almost fall asleep, but then the bathroom door opens and Quinn steps out, prompting me to sit up. She's dressed in her own sweatpants and my Coldplay t-shirt. She looks fresh and relaxed and _young_. And, well, she's in my clothes - sort of - and I lick my lips without preamble.

She notices and raises her eyebrows but says nothing as she moves to sit at the head of my bed. It takes her a moment to settle, and then her gaze is on me, and those hazel eyes are saying _so much_ even though her mouth isn't moving. Yet.

"I'm sorry." She says it so reverently, and so painfully. It hurts to hear it, and I don't _want_ her to be sorry.

"Where did you go today?" I ask.

She clears her throat. "I went to the bank," she says. "And I met with a lawyer."

I blink. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

She hesitates. "'Want' is a strong word," she says; "but I definitely _need_ to."

"Do you want to talk to _me_ about it?"

"There's nobody else, Rachel," she whispers. "I know I've been weird today, but it's just you. Only you."

I watch as she seems to make a decision, shifting until she's resting against my headboard. She waves her hand for me to go to her, and I move towards her immediately. I settle between her legs, my back to her front. I get the feeling she doesn't want me to look at her when she tells me whatever she wants to tell me. Her arms slide around my waist and she pulls me closer, burying her face in my loose hair. She breathes steadily, and I can feel the tension slowly leaving her body. Her hands have stopped trembling and I relax into her.

It takes her another few minutes to start speaking, and I realise this is an important moment for us. We're having a lot of these moments as we grow closer and closer and, as terrifying as they are, I relish them. "I have scars, Rachel," she says softly. "Everywhere." My hands cover hers. "Inside of me," she murmurs. "Outside of me. _Everywhere_. I'm damaged and I'm broken and I have scars." She sighs tiredly. "From my father. From when I was younger. He was - he always wanted everything and everyone to be perfect, and I wasn't always - "

She swallows audibly and, God, my heart hurts, but I stay perfectly still and listen as she breathes the words she wishes to say.

"He has a temper, and he - he would hit me sometimes." Her hands are shaking again but I hold them in mine, trying to give her whatever she needs from me: strength and an anchor. "It wasn't always bad," she says. "Just spanking at first. I mean, parents spanked their kids all the time, right?" I make no comment because I can't recall my dads ever spanking me. There were threats to spank, obviously, but they were just used to make sure I complied. Which I did. Excitable as I was, I was extremely well-behaved, eager for acceptance and _applause_. "But it got worse as I got older," she continues. "His drinking got worse, the more he became dissatisfied with his life and his family, and he took it out on me... and my sister."

The addition of her sister, almost as an afterthought, is alarming. It's as if she isn't sure, or she's trying to make it seem as less of an attack on _her_ specifically.

"Actually," she backtracks. "I don't know much about my father and sister's relationship. She's much older than me, and she probably escaped before it got _bad_ ; before he graduated to his belt and - " she stops, her breath hitching. "He was very careful, almost calculating, and he made sure not to use his _bare_ _hands_. I don't know if it hurt him when he did, or if he convinced himself he was doing nothing wrong if the skin of his hands never made contact with me.

"Though, he did slap me once. The night they kicked me out. Finn was waiting in the car and, after that half hour, his anger hadn't dissipated and he'd had something to drink, and he slapped me right in that entrance hall, with my mother standing right there, saying and doing nothing." She swallows. "It was so... surprising; because he'd been better since we moved here, which was a direct result of the changes I made to myself." I frown, but don't say anything. What does _that_ mean? "I never really hated him before that day. There was just so much hatred and disappointment in his eyes, and he hit me with his bare hands... and I sometimes still feel my cheek vibrating from the force of his utter resentment.

"I hate him now. I hate him so much, and I hate that he holds all this power over me. I was - I was a little crazy this morning, and I'm sorry I scared you and didn't explain right away. I'm sorry I... ran. I know I keep apologising for doing just that, but I'm trying." She sounds so tired; so defeated, and all I want to do is wrap her in my arms and keep her safe. "I didn't want him to see you. I don't want him to know anything about you, and that's not because I'm ashamed of you or don't want to scream from the rooftops that you're the one I want... It's because he - he ruins whatever he touches, Rachel. And I have to protect you from him."

I squeeze her fingers. "As long as I get to protect you too," I whisper.

"Oh, Rach," she breathes; "you have no idea what you do for me. Every day."

"I just want to make you happy."

She kisses my hair. "You do. Even when I don't show it, you make me _so_ happy."

I close my eyes and try to formulate the right words to say. In all my years, I never thought I would be in a position such as this one, and I don't intend to mess it up.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, and her arms tighten around me but she stays silent. "I _hate_ that he hurt you," I say softly. "No parent should ever hurt his or her child, in any way, and I am so, so sorry, Quinn." I hear her sniffle behind me, and I shift so I can take her in my arms and hold her against the front of my body. She's crying, but she's not. There are tears and she's emotional, but she's not falling apart. So, maybe not all is lost. "You are so strong," I whisper into her hair. "You are a perfect story, worthy and relevant. You are everything, Quinn. You are _everything_."

We're silent for the longest time before she starts to move. Her left hand trails up my side and comes to rest on my back as her lips press gentle kisses along my collarbone. I sigh contently, and she moves her mouth further north. I feel her suck gently on my pulse point, and then the tip of her tongue pokes out and she licks the column of my throat, making me moan.

"Quinn," I breathe.

She lifts her head and her perfect, dark eyes meet mine for the first time since her revelation. I want to tell her so many things. I want to tell her that I'm not running. She can run if she wants to, but I'll always be here for her when she comes back. Because that's what she does. She _may_ run, but she always comes back. I just wonder if she would be as understanding if _I_ ever had a freakout about the intensity of all of this - well, _another one_. I don't intend to, but it's something I worry about.

My hands move to hold the sides of her face, and I smile gently. "I love you," I say, my voice soft and sure. "I love you, okay? This changes nothing for me. I'm right here, and you are everything. Everything."

And then her mouth descends on mine, her body shifting until she's lying on top of me, the weight of her comforting and perfect. My hands slide into her hair, guiding our kiss because I don't want to stop kissing her. I just - I want her close. After today, I don't want her anywhere else but here with me. All we do is kiss, tongues and lips and teeth, and it feels as if it means that bit _more_ than what we were doing yesterday in the hot tub. God, was that only yesterday?

I pull away suddenly. "Baby?"

She hums against my neck.

"I still haven't seen your tattoo."

Her breath is warm as she chuckles against my skin. "That's because you weren't looking."

"I was _touching_."

She growls, the vibrations translating to my chest.

"Tell me."

"You have to find it."

"When?"

She sighs, and lifts her head to look at my face. "I _know_ I ruined your plans for tonight," she says. "I promise to make it up to you."

"I told you I could shift things to the weekend," I remind her. "So, you and me, your sexy body and your tattoo and my hands and my eyes... on Saturday."

She shakes her head, blushing. "Did you just call my body sexy?"

"I did," I say, seriously. "Have you _seen_ it?"

She blinks. "You clearly haven't."

I wait.

"It's scarred," she whispers.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I try to find the right words. "Personally, I think scars are beautiful," I say, slowly and purposefully. I need her to know the truth of my words. "They represent so much, Quinn. They show your strength and they show how you have survived; how you have overcome."

She takes in a shaky breath, looking wonderstruck. I lick my lips. She may not say the words but the look in her eyes is telling, and I'm trying to hold onto that. I don't expect her to say anything, so I'm surprised when she does, first hugging me close to her.

"I don't need you to light up my world," she whispers, her mouth pressed to the shell of my ear. "Just lie here with me in the dark until the sun rises."

It takes me a moment to acknowledge it, but this is how she tells me she loves me.

And, later, when she's fallen asleep, I crawl out of bed, tiptoe downstairs, settle on the couch, and I cry and cry.

* * *

Friday is a much better day, in the sense that Quinn doesn't look haunted. Or tense. Or decidedly _unQuinn_ -like. It's both a relief and whatever is the opposite of relief. We haven't really discussed much since Wednesday night because her practice yesterday went on and on until she was too exhausted for anything other than crawling into _my_ bed, wrapping her arms around me and falling asleep.

And she was gone when I woke up this morning, leaving me a note telling me about her early Cheerios practice and that she thinks I'm lovely. We still haven't really talked about the bank or the lawyer or so many other things, and I think she senses my unease about it because she's being very generous with her touches and affection in public.

Like, right now.

We're sitting in Glee and her hand is resting on my leg, all innocent, as her focus is elsewhere. There's nothing untoward about it, except for the fact that I _know_ what it feels like to have that same hand trailing up the skin of that same thigh. She squeezes every few moments, and I realise she needs the contact almost as much as I do. I try to focus on the words Mr Schuester is saying but I'm failing. This _is_ the end of Valentine's week, which really means that everyone's going to be singing about love.

Including me.

I temper myself and restrain from lifting my hand first. Quinn tosses me an amused smile when she realises, and I blush. She leans into me, close enough to feel her breath against the skin of my cheek.

"Planning on singing to anyone in particular?" she asks in a murmur, and my hand slides onto hers on my leg. My fingers fit into the spaces of hers, and this is such a dangerous game we're playing. Anyone could see and read it the wrong way... or the _right_ way, I suppose.

"No," I manage to say, refusing to look at her. If I do, I think I'll be too tempted to kiss her or something equally drastic.

"Oh, really?"

I don't respond as Mr Schuester opens the floor to the club, and Quinn and I turn our attention to Mike and Tina, who sing - I use that term loosely when it comes to Mike - _L-O-V-E_ by Nat King Cole. It's a happy number, getting us to rise up and dance along, and I'm all too aware of how close to me Quinn stands. I can feel the heat from her proximity and it's doing wonders to my own body temperature.

During the song, I cast a nervous look at Artie, but he doesn't look put out by the display of Mike and Tina's obvious _love_. Maybe the love triangle has finally settled their vertices. I hope so, because I've dealt with enough tension in homeroom to last me a lifetime.

Next, Puck dedicates a truly inappropriate song to all the _ladies_. He raises his eyebrows suggestively, makes a point of winking at Quinn and then starts singing. I don't pay close attention, but I note the horrified looks on everyone's faces. Even Lauren's, and particularly Quinn's. Even her disgusted face is cute. Seriously, how is that her particular brand of DNA can even exist?

Finn and Artie sing a duet - _Let Me Love You_ by Mario - and Quinn looks decidedly uncomfortable every time Finn's eyes land on her. I can't tell if I'm angry or jealous - or both. Just what is he trying to do? If I was on the fence about singing _my_ song, I'm definitely not anymore.

As soon as they're done, I raise my hand, and Mr Schuester offers me the floor. I squeeze Quinn's fingers for a beat before I rise and move to the front to pass on my sheet music to Brad and the rest of the band.

I don't know why but my heart is suddenly beating double-time. Singing a song about love probably won't curb the Glee Club's curiosity over the singing telegram I was sent. Obviously, Quinn and I are stirring up something, but I can't bring myself to care. I'll field all the questions in the world if it means I get to sing to Quinn in this moment; in this moment when I _know,_ without a doubt, that I love her more than I thought was humanly capable.

"I love _love_ ," I say, because I'm not about to dedicate this to anyone in front of all of them. Quinn knows, and that's all that matters. When the music starts, I take a controlled breath in and start singing Kelly Clarkson's _A Moment Like This_ , my gaze meeting Quinn's for just a moment.

" _What if I told you, it was all meant to be? Would you believe me, would you agree? It's almost that feelin' that we've met before. So, tell me that you don't think I'm crazy when I tell you love has come here and now..._ "

It's a rather delicate song, and I keep my voice soft and controlled. Almost breathy. " _A moment like this, some people wait a lifetime, for a moment like this. Some people search forever, for that one special kiss. Oh, I can't believe it's happening to me. Some people wait a lifetime, for a moment like this_.

" _Everything changes, but beauty remains. Something so tender, I can't explain. Well I maybe dreamin', but 'till I awake. Can we make this dream last forever, and I'll cherish all the love we share_?" The tempo picks up and my voice gets louder. " _A moment like this, some people wait a lifetime, for a moment like this. Some people search forever, for that one special kiss. Oh, I can't believe it's happening to me. Some people wait a lifetime, for a moment like this_. _Could this be the greatest love of all? I wanna know that you will catch me when I fall. So, let me tell you this..._

" _Some people wait a lifetime, for a moment like this. Some people wait a lifetime, for a moment like this_." Kurt, Mercedes, Tina and Blaine join in, shadowing my runs and providing a steady chorus. " _Some people search forever, for that one special kiss. Oh, I can't believe it's happening to me. Some people wait a lifetime, for a moment like this. Oh, like this oh, I can't believe it's happening to me_." My voice drops to a whisper, the music falling away, and I sing the last lines. " _Some people wait a lifetime, for a moment like this. Oh, like this_."

There's applause, of course, and Quinn is on her feet, tears pooled in her eyes. Santana lets out a whoop, and then makes a comment to ease the raging emotion threatening to bubble right out of my body.

"Jeez, Berry, save that song for when you win your first Tony," she comments, and I can't help but beam at her. Bless her.

"So, you think I'm going to win a Tony then?" I ask, bouncing back to my seat, only to find that Quinn is still standing. "You first heard it here, people. Santana thinks I'm going to be a star!"

"Don't let it get to your head," Santana teases with a roll of her eyes, and she's also still standing.

I frown. "What's going on?" I ask, my eyes on Quinn.

She gives me a truly significant look, and it takes my breath away. "Oh, Santana's singing for Britt, and I'm accompanying her."

"Oh." Then: " _Oh_."

She smiles faintly and squeezes my forearm. "You were amazing, by the way. I love that song."

"I know."

Her smile widens. "I think you're going to like this one."

Before I can question her further, Santana is tugging on her arm, and the two of them move to the front. I immediately take my seat and watch. Santana pulls up a stool, finds a guitar and gets into position. Quinn - Quinn takes a seat at the piano. Oh. Okay. I don't think I'm ready for this.

Santana clears her throat. "So, this is a little something for my Britt - I love you - and dearest Quinn has generously offered to accompany me," she says, though I don't miss the moment her eyes flick my way. It's for me too, then. Brittany moves to sit next to me and takes one of my hands in hers, squeezing gently. We have amazing girlfriends, don't we?

Santana strums the guitar, and it sounds perfect even to my ears. " _One, two, three, four_ ," she says, and Quinn starts singing the first lines of _Kiss Me_ by Ed Sheeran. It's slow and pretty, and it's for Brittany, but it's really for me as well. I can tell from the brief look Quinn gives me as the first notes fill the room.

" _Settle down with me. Cover me up. Cuddle me in. Lie down with me, and hold me in your arms_."

Santana picks up the next lyrics, her tone just beautiful and soft. " _And your heart's against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck. I'm falling for your eyes, but they don't know me yet. And with a feeling I'll forget, I'm in love now_." She smiles at Brittany, before she and Quinn sing together, their voices blending in perfect harmony.

" _Kiss me like you wanna be loved. You wanna be loved. You wanna be loved. This feels like falling in love, falling in love. We're falling in love_."

I'm smiling so wide, and I love her. I truly do.

Quinn sings solo again. " _Settle down with me, and I'll be your safety. You'll be my lady."_ She lets out a breathy laugh, and Santana playfully rolls her eyes _. "I was made to keep your body warm, but I'm cold as the wind blows, so hold me in your arms_."

Santana takes over. " _Oh no, my heart's against your chest, your lips pressed to my neck. I'm falling for your eyes, but they don't know me yet, and with this feeling I'll forget, I'm in love now_."

Again, they sing together and, honestly, their voices sound so good that I have to wonder why they don't sing together more often. They harmonise effortlessly, and I make a mental note to revisit this combination at a later date. " _Kiss me like you wanna be loved. You wanna be loved. You wanna be loved. This feels like falling in love, falling in love. We're falling in love_."

There's a break in singing here, and Quinn uses the moment to grace us with a perfect piano solo that slides its way straight into my soul and lodges itself there. There's this serene look on her face as the music passes through her body and out into the world via the movement of her fingers. I'm in love now.

Quinn eventually returns to singing: " _Yeah, I've been feeling everything_."

Santana goes next, and they alternate lines, adding grit to their voices I didn't even know they were capable of: " _From hate to love_."

" _From love to lust_."

" _From lust to truth_."

" _I guess that's how I know you, so I hold you close to help you give it up_."

They sing the last few lines together, and my heart has melted into a puddle. I hear Brittany sniffle beside me. " _So, kiss me like you wanna be loved. You wanna be loved. You wanna be loved. This feels like falling in love, falling in love. We're falling in love. Kiss me like you wanna be loved. You wanna be loved. You wanna be loved. This feels like falling in love, falling in love. We're falling in love_."

When the last note is pressed and plucked, Brittany leaps up and bounds towards Santana, eliciting a few laughs from the club. There's serious applause, and Quinn gets questioned about her solo, which I learn was impromptu and, essentially, made up on-the-spot, even though it fit so well with the song. My girlfriend is one talented girl. Their song is apparently the last, and we all hang around when Mr Schuester dismisses us.

"Berry," Santana says as she sidles up to me, a soft smile on her face. "I know I said the song was for Britt, but we were singing to you too."

I smile back at her, my gaze softening. "I know, Santana."

"Be patient," she offers kindly. "She's getting there."

Without prompting, we look at Quinn, who's standing with her arms around Brittany's waist, their faces mere inches apart. She's wearing her third smile - the Brittany one - and I love her. I love her in a whole, all-consuming, painful way that I just _know_ is going to burn me.

As yet, I don't know if it's going to be in a good or bad way.


	23. twenty-three

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _the wounds have changed me.  
_ _i am so soft with scars my skin breathes and beats stars._

 _._

"Baby, we really don't have to do anything tonight."

And there they are: the magical words I want to hear from her perfect lips, even though I'm convinced I don't deserve them.

At first, I feel relief enough to make me want to collapse on her bedroom floor right this instant, and then I feel extreme guilt. Honestly, I want nothing more than to crawl into bed _with her_ and just sleep for the next millennia, but I promised to make it up to her. And, after the complete disaster that was every moment after I laid eyes on my father for the first time in what feels like forever, I think I owe Rachel a night of epic proportions. I want to take her out somewhere, sweep her off her feet and kiss her under the stars until we're both breathless.

The only thing is... I'm exhausted. We had a ten-hour Cheerios practice today because Coach Sylvester is a maniac - _and_ our Regional competition is this coming Thursday, but it's mainly because the woman is certifiably insane. And _then_ the Glee Club's Regionals are on Saturday and, yes, I am completely and utterly spent. Santana even asked me if I'm still taking my iron tablets because I feel like the walking dead. I _must_ look like it too, and my girlfriend is just too polite to say anything about it.

And now here we are, and she's being so kind and understanding, and I feel even more horrible because of it. We're supposed to be going out or doing something - even her fathers are out on the town right now - but now Rachel is offering me the chance to do _nothing,_ and I guiltily want to take it.

"But I told you that - " I start to protest, but Rachel interrupts me with a firm press of her lips to my own, essentially shutting me up.

"Look," she says, pulling back and smiling at my bemused expression. "I know you think I want to go out, but I really don't. I'm perfectly content to stay home, with you. I know you're exhausted. I can see it and I can hear it, and it's not necessary for you to try to make it up to me _right now_ , Quinn. I just want to spend time with you. I've missed you."

My stomach flutters at the sound of her words, but I'm still apprehensive. "Are you sure?" I ask quietly, feeling awful.

She nods. "I'm certain, yes," she says. "And, really, after this week, I'm rather tired too."

I sigh. Well, _that_ doesn't help at all.

She smiles warmly, reaching out to cup my cheeks with both of her hands. Her skin is warmer than mine, even though _I'm_ the one who just had a hot shower that was supposed to ease the tension in my muscles - and failed. "Do you know how cute you are when you're sleepy?"

"Rachel," I whine.

"I want to stay home," she says strongly. "Is it so inconceivable that all I want to do is sit here and talk to you?"

I say nothing. It _is_ somewhat inconceivable, but I don't think she'll appreciate my telling her that. Finn wasn't much of a talker. He didn't ask questions. Nobody has really been this interested in getting to know me this way. Not even my own blood relations.

"I want to learn all there is to learn about you," she says, her voice low and serious. "I want all the way in, Quinn Fabray. This entire experience has been eye-opening and enlightening, and I want all of it. I want all of you."

I let out a shaky breath. And she says _I'm_ the overwhelming one.

"So, come here," she says. "Come sit with me. I want to cuddle."

I wait, even as she climbs into her bed and leans against the headboard. "Are you sure this is what you want?" I ask, and I know it's a loaded question. "There are bad things, Rachel. Bad, terrible things, that I'm ashamed of. There are good things too. Sad things. Ugly things. Once you know, you can't _un_ know."

"Quinn."

I sigh. "Yes, dear."

She manages a smile. "Please just come here."

I go. She doesn't have to tell me twice, or however many times she's invited me into her bed. I slip under the covers and we settle into our cuddle position with me between her legs, my back against her front and her arms around my stomach and shoulders. I feel a bit like a baby bear, safe and protected by the ferocity that is Rachel Berry.

We lie in silence for the longest time, and my body relaxes into hers until I'm sure we're occupying the same space. She's warm and soft and strong and _here_. She's here, and she wants to know me. As terrifying as it is, I find myself sinking into the comfort of it. She wants to know me.

"My sister has always been really into astrology," I say, the volume of my voice barely more than a whisper. "When I was little, she did my chart. I don't know how, because I didn't really care. She used my day and time of birth to tell me things about myself." I pause to remember. "There were a lot of generic things. I would be successful and happy and I would find love in a tall, dark and handsome man. I'd have pretty children, possibly be a housewife and be kind and generous. To a kid, it sounded like magic. I wanted what my mother had, at the time. Everybody did. We were the perfect family on the outside, and I believed we were perfect on the inside until I just didn't. I started big school and I learned that parents hug and kiss their children and tell them they love them. I learned that parents held hands and laughed, and I learned that fathers were gentle beings, smiling and loving in ways mine has never been."

Her lips brush against my temple.

"I was a shy child," I say. "Painfully shy, actually. Quiet and soft spoken. I think my Catholic upbringing should have formed a modest, level-headed, giving and outgoing child like what my parents wanted, but that's not what they got. Not with me, at least. Frannie was better at it than I ever was. So, they were obviously disappointed. I mean, I do think I'm sort of those things now, but I haven't always been. There was a burden placed on my shoulders to emulate Frannie and continue with this perfectness my father so desperately wanted, and I ended up with the weight of his disappointment as well, and it crushed me. It - it was the catalyst for a lot of things."

I swallow nervously and she squeezes my waist in support. "I started to gain weight," I tell her. "I don't know if kids can be depressed, but I do believe I ate my feelings. The more I ate, the worse I felt, but I didn't care. It's really something, standing in front of a mirror and hating every single thing about yourself. My hair. My face. My nose, my body, my skin. Just, everything. I hated it. And so did my family. I no longer fit the Fabray mould - no longer physically, at least, because I doubt I would _ever_ fit it - which I now think I must have subconsciously tried to do, and Russell Fabray did not like that at all.

"I told you I'd been hit before, but it's around that time the - uh - _beatings_ , I guess, really started to pick up in brutality, I guess. They were few and far between at first, coinciding with social events during which I failed to live up to expectations. I was an embarrassment, and they would have left me at home if it weren't known that I existed. Questions would be asked, and they had to keep up appearances. But... they had me convinced they wished I didn't exist, and - " I stop. "I started to wish it too."

Rachel sniffs behind me.

"I felt that as a child, and I sometimes feel it now."

Her arms tighten until they hurt, and the masochist inside of me enjoys the pain. The _feeling_.

"Rachel?"

She hums, lips against my skin.

"I am so sorry."

"For what, baby?"

I shift, so I can look at her perfect face. I have to be looking in her eyes for this part. "I'm sorry I hurt you with my awful words and actions and my unexplainable dislike. I'm sorry for every hand I played in all the discourse and bullying you've ever suffered. I'm sorry for taking my pain out on you."

Her eyes are gentle, understanding.

"I've never hated _you_ ," I stay, standing by that. How could I hate someone I didn't even know? "I think I hated what you represented. Someone bigger and better than me in every way, because I've hated myself so intensely in my life that I actually start to feel _numb_. So, I'm sorry. I am so sorry. It was - it was never what I wanted. I've never wanted someone to go through any of that because..." I trail off, steeling myself. "Because I know what it feels like."

Her eyes widen slightly.

"I was fat and ugly and just - they hated me. They hated me for what I looked like and who I was, and nobody _cared_. I was shy and an easy target and they were merciless. They were cruel and unrelenting and I know, Rachel. I _know_ , and I am so sorry. I am so sorry."

Her arms release me and my heart drops, but then her hands are on my face, wiping my tears and comforting me. "Oh, Quinn," she breathes. "I'm sorry too, and I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago. Please stop apologising to me."

"I should never stop," I press stubbornly. "Because of what I experienced, everything I've done to you... it just makes it so much worse. I knew. I've always known. I know how it can break a person, and yet I couldn't - I couldn't protect anyone from who I forced myself to turn into to try to make my parents love me."

She frowns in confusion.

I sit up and turn, so I can look at her face properly. "I'm going to tell you something, Rachel," I say, almost a whisper. If I'm being honest, I never thought I would ever tell her this part. I mean, if we're going to be together for as long as I believe we are - forever - then she's bound to find out eventually, right? It _is_ on my birth certificate after all. If she wants all of me, then she's going to get it, I suppose. "Quinn isn't my first name," I say, and the 'o' of her mouth is rather comical. I would smile if my heart wasn't thundering in my chest.

She blinks. "It's not?"

I shake my head no. "I was born, uh, Lucy Quinn Fabray," I confess.

"Lucy?"

I let out a nervous breath. "It really suits me, doesn't it?"

She says nothing.

I swallow audibly. "Before Lima, I was Lucy, and I associate her with a person who was weak and bent under the pressure of a very idealistic family. I associate her with a time when I was nothing more than the dirt under the shoes of my tormentors. She's from a life when my father took his anger out on me in ways that eventually stopped hurting because you can get used to pain. She was... the past, and I left her behind when I decided to become Quinn." I can't bring myself to look at Rachel anymore, so I drop my gaze to my hands in my lap and take a breath. "It happened just after my father announced he would be transferring at the end of the school year, and it sparked the idea that this was my opportunity for a fresh, new start. I wouldn't have to be 'Lucy Caboosey' anymore - that's one of the names they called me - and I could rebuild as someone new; the someone my family so desperately wanted me to be.

"I had a plan, Rachel. I worked hard to lose the weight, and I still work hard to keep it off. I ditched my glasses and got contacts. My diet helped with my skin, and the products I used cleared it up, and I don't worry too much about it now because I know it's been worse. My teeth are now straight and whitened and, when I stepped into William McKinley High School, Lucy was gone and Quinn took her place. I just - I wanted people to like me. I didn't want them to pick on me anymore, and I wanted my parents to be proud of me. I didn't want to be a disappointment and, for a while, it worked.

"But then I got caught up in being Quinn. I'd never considered myself anything to look at before. In fact, I'd spent years trying to hide from people's gazes and then, suddenly, all eyes were on me because of my appearance, and it was a lot to get used to. I turned into this person who was fuelled by hatred of herself and her family, and I took it out on innocent people. It helped me build myself up, sure, but the Lucy inside of me has hated every second of it. I've struggled with the balance, and I've embraced my bitchiness for so long; sometimes I don't know how to turn Quinn off."

I scrub my face with my hands, hating my younger self; hating _all_ my selfs. "My father was always going to be dissatisfied with me, so it was the little things that set him off when we got here. Like, a skew piece of silverware on the table I set, or even maintaining eye contact for a beat too long. He - he wanted silent, obedient children and, as much as I tried, nothing seemed to please him. My mother's expectations were easier, I suppose: join the Cheerios, date a nice boy and don't embarrass the family. I tried to do all those things for them... until I found out I was pregnant and ended up failing at all three of them, because what kind of 'nice boy' gets his teenage girlfriend pregnant? It was the first time I truly allowed Lucy and Quinn to meet.

"As you can imagine, they _really_ didn't like each other. At all. I mean, I'd spent so long trying to be perfect and, like Lucy, Quinn failed as well. She failed at being the daughter my parents wanted, even after all I'd done to _change_ , and she failed... so, I just decided that maybe being _both_ wasn't such a bad thing." I don't know if I'm making any sense, but Rachel's eyes are on me, and I'm still talking. Honestly, I don't think I've ever said so many words at any one time to a single person. It's exhausting. "Quinn was mean and cruel and she hurt people because she was tired of being hurt herself. Lucy just wanted her parents to love her... and _I_ just - I don't even know anymore." I sigh. "All I do know is that there is no place in this world I would rather be than in this bed, and there is nobody I would rather be with than you."

I've never spoken to anyone about this, and I tell Rachel that. Nobody in this world knows all of this, besides her, and she has to know how important this moment is for me. For _us_. Right now, it's all I can give her, and I just hope it's enough. I hope _I'm_ enough.

"I still feel as if I'm trying to figure out who I am but, for the first time in my life, I'm not living my life to please my parents or anyone else. I'm living it for myself, and that makes a world of difference, Rachel, and I have to thank you for helping me with that. You and your fathers have helped me so much, and this Lucy-Quinn hybrid I'm trying to make sense of is the one person I know _I_ can be proud of." I think I'm done. I want to be, because I'm beyond exhausted now. Talking is tiring, and I don't see how Rachel isn't completely out of it all day with the amount of words she can say in a single sitting.

We sit in silence for the longest time, and I can just see the cogwheels turning in her pretty little head. I'm nervous and fidgety and my mother would probably scold me. But, then again, I'm sitting on my girlfriend's bed and telling said girlfriend everything, so I surely don't give a shit about her right now.

Eventually, Rachel clears her throat and meets my gaze. "Firstly, I love you, okay?" she says. "None of this changes that for me. I just - I have questions. Can I ask questions?"

I nod, even though my fidgeting hasn't stopped - it's probably picked up, for all I know.

"I - " she starts, and then stops. "You said you were bullied?"

I nod. "I did say that, and I was, yes."

She reaches out for me, and closes her hand around my left wrist. "I'm so sorry," she says, and she means it.

"Rachel," I whisper. "Don't - "

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I _am_ sorry, because nobody deserves that. Least of all you."

I drop my gaze, my shoulders sagging. "Or you."

"Or me," she echoes with a nod. "Nobody."

"I'm sorry."

"I thought we discussed this, Quinn," she whines, before she makes a face quite suddenly.

"What?"

" _Quinn_ ," she repeats.

I raise my eyebrows. "It's still my name, you know?"

"I don't see you as a Lucy," she says.

"Good."

"Does anyone still call you that?"

"My sister does sometimes," I tell her. "She was already in college when I made the transition, and she wasn't really around for most of it." I shrug. "Really, she probably does it just to irritate me. It's moot, because all she has to do is breathe for that to happen."

Rachel smiles at me for the first time since I started my complicated tale. "You've always been Quinn to me, and you'll always be," she says. "Does Lucy bring up bad memories for you?"

All I can do is nod. This girl knows me; she really knows me.

"So, I shall have to refrain from teasing you then," she says brightly, which helps the atmosphere tremendously.

I roll my eyes.

"I can't believe your name is Lucy," she comments, sitting back and smiling fondly.

I return her smile. "It's one of the reasons I spent as long as I did agonising over what to name Beth," I tell her, offering up another piece of me to her. "Do you know how I ended up naming her?"

She takes a moment to think about it. "Is it to do with the song Finn and Noah sang?"

"Uh, no," I say. "It's from _Little Women_ , actually."

She raises her eyebrows. "Oh?"

I nod.

"Is it one of your favourite books because of the name Beth, or is the name Beth because it's your favourite book?"

I frown. "I tried to follow that, but, uh... yes?"

She laughs lightly, her fingers squeezing my wrist gently. "And you're supposed to be Miss Four-Point-Oh GPA," she teases, and I grab hold of her hand, linking our fingers. She giggles softly, her eyes meeting mine. "So, why Beth then?"

"Well, _anything_ would be better than what Finn wanted to name her," I say. "I swear, my baby hormones and general disposition almost castrated him when he suggested the name 'Drizzle.'"

She waits a beat before she bursts out laughing, hysterically. "Drizzle?" she questions, her face turning red from her laughter. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"I wish."

"Wow."

"Tell me about it."

She lets out a breath, her laughter stopping but her amused expression remaining. "So, why Beth?" she asks again.

"When I first read _Little Women_ , I really identified with her character," I confess. "Can I read you her initial description?"

"Sure," she says, and I get up off the bed and move towards her desk. My original copy of Louisa May Alcott's masterpiece is on Rachel's desk, among her things that are really _ours_ now. I find it easily, and then return to my position on the bed, sitting close enough for our knees to touch.

"There was always something about her," I tell Rachel as I finger through the book for the correct page. "I don't, for a second, think naming my daughter Beth will have her end up this way, but I wanted to give her a name to be proud of; something with meaning to _both of us_ , because this book helped me through sophomore year. It helped me come to terms with all the difficulties I was facing, through reading it to myself, and out loud to my baby bump."

She nods in understanding, a small smile on her face.

When I find the page, I start to read out loud. "'Elizabeth - or Beth, as everyone called her - was a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression, which was seldom disturbed. Her father called her 'Little Tranquility', and the name suited her excellently; for she seemed to live in a happy world of her own, only venturing out to see the few whom she trusted and loved.'" I look up at Rachel, and she now has a beaming smile on her face that makes me feel both lightheaded and slightly embarrassed. "What?" I ask.

"Sorry, it's just that we both know how much I love it when you read to me," she says, and I feel heat rise up my neck. Then: "And she sounds like you. Beth, I mean. The character. At least, the way you describe your old self, because I didn't know Lucy, but I think I would have loved her. We definitely would have been friends."

"Do you really think so?" I ask, my voice a little more than a whisper.

"I do."

"She definitely would have been a better friend than Quinn," I tell her.

"That may be so," she says, shrugging slightly; "but this you that you are right now is the best girlfriend I could ever ask for."

"And, did you ask for me?" I ask, raising my eyebrows in curiosity.

She nods. "Without even knowing it, I'm certain I wished for you."

"Oh?"

"And yet I still didn't see it coming," she says. "I didn't see _you_ coming, but I don't regret a single thing. I want all of you: Lucy, Quinn, the hybrid; the great, the good, the bad and the ugly. I want to know you. I - I don't want another week like this one."

"Neither do I," I echo. Then, backtracking, I say, "Except the earlier parts of Tuesday. I could probably do with some more of that."

She raises her eyebrows. "I thought you said you were exhausted."

"Actually, _you're_ the one who said that."

"Hmm."

"Rachel."

"Baby."

I launch myself at her in the next beat, and she squeals in surprise. My mouth is on hers before she can protest, and all fight dies when I slip my tongue past her lips and caress her own. She lets out a moan that makes my heart rate rise dangerously. I feel so out of control when I'm with her. Her hands move into my hair, fingers sliding through the strands as we shift into a more comfortable position. Rachel settles on her back and I support myself over her as she slides down. Once she's comfortable, I rest my weight on her, my one thigh sliding between her legs and making her gasp. I've wanted to try this for a while, because it's becoming increasingly evident that we definitely turn each other _on_. Which I am, right now. I can _feel_ it, and I imagine she can too.

She immediately grabs for me and we're kissing again, hard and fast and passionately. She's tugging painfully on my hair, keeping my head in place as our mouths move together in a heated kiss that has the potential to become something more. It does, and it does _quickly_. It's almost desperate the way she's tugging on my t-shirt, eager for skin. I oblige with little hesitation and the offending garment is discarded within a minute.

"Are you seriously wearing a tank top right now?" she asks, sounding breathless and annoyed, with her pout in full effect.

I laugh, dropping my mouth to her neck and murmuring against her skin. "I had to, because I'm not wearing a bra."

Her hands slide under my tank top, as if she's decided to feel for herself if I'm telling the truth. I let out an audible hiss when her hands cup my breasts and she squeezes the soft flesh. She's gentle at first, but she grows into it, and I'm starting to squirm and pant and my hips press against her, just looking for _more_. Friction, yes, but relief as well. It's as if we've made a mutual decision _silently_ , because I grind against the strong muscles of her leg just as she moves against mine, and we fall into a steady and satisfying rhythm that's making it increasingly difficult to breathe properly.

"Quinn," she practically pants, and the sound of my name from her lips _tonight_ means so much more. Her arms are now around my neck and she's hugging me to her, forcing me closer and deeper and it's building and -

Good God, what is this girl doing to me? My chest is aching with want, and I want her closer. I want her inside of me. No, I want inside of her.

"That's - don't - I'm - " she struggles, gasping in my ear, her nails digging into my skin. "I'm - Quinn!"

"Incoherence is _so_ sexy," I mumble against her neck, my hands moving under her t-shirt and trailing fire across her skin.

"Quinn," she says again, and I've never heard her voice sound like that before... because we've never been in a position such as this one. When I realise it's because she's _close_ , something foreign takes over my body, and I can only describe it as my going a little crazy. I fist the fabric of her t-shirt in my hands, shove it upwards and immediately take a nipple in my mouth. I suck once, twice, and then _bite_ down.

Rachel stiffens immediately, her body arching. I swirl my tongue, and she shudders as she climaxes. It's fascinating. I just watch her face as she comes undone beneath me, even as my mouth continues to work and my hips continue to move, sliding my centre along her thigh. I can hear her saying my name over and over again as I draw out her orgasm in search of my own. Rachel helps by dragging her nails down my back and cupping my ass. My hips buck once, twice, and then white hot lava fills me from the inside out. I shut my eyes tightly against the white spots in my vision, and focus on just how good this feels; how wonderful _she_ feels.

I'm tempted to collapse on her, but I have enough brain function not to, and I roll to the side, my breathing heavy and unsteady. I feel uncomfortable in my sweats, but there's a content smile on my face. And, one glance Rachel's way proves she's faring no better than I am. Her eyes are closed, cheeks flushed and her t-shirt is still bunched up, revealing her very appealing upper body to my eyes. I'm tempted to touch and taste again, but her eyes are suddenly on me, and I smile guiltily.

Rachel reaches for my hand and brings it up to her lips, gently kissing my knuckles. "Baby, why have we never done that before?" she asks, her voice hoarse.

"We weren't ready," I whisper, rolling onto my side and sliding my hand down from her lips. I bring the t-shirt down and cover her up because I can't quite concentrate on the words she's saying. _And_ I'm exhausted. I shift closer.

"But we're getting there, aren't we?"

I slip an arm around her and pull her into my body, her side against my front. "We are," I assure her, as I settle and close my eyes. I nuzzle her cheek, and I feel her smile.

"Quinn?"

I hum in response, keeping my eyes closed.

"My heart is yours," she says, and she sounds so sure. After everything I've just told her, she still sounds certain, and I love her. We're young and we're 'new,' but this is for forever. I just know it.

"I think you've had mine since the night you first took me in your arms and held me together," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her throat. "It's been in your hands since, and you've kept it safe, helping it heal and taking care of it. Taking care of _me_."

"Do you know what you do for me?"

"I know what I _hope_ to do for you, one day," I say, injecting some innuendo into my voice, and she giggles.

"I'm trying to be serious here."

I clear my throat. "Sorry," I murmur. "I'm listening."

She sighs contently. "I just want you to know that you give me a purpose beyond myself and beyond my dreams of stardom," she says, her tone serious. "You make me _so_ happy, and getting to know you this way has been the greatest part of my senior year. My high school career. Just, my entire life, really."

I laugh breathily.

"I mean it," she presses. "You are the best thing to happen to me."

I press a kiss to the skin of her cheek, and she hums, satisfied. There's one more thing to say, apparently.

"Maybe, when we're both not as exhausted, we can do _that_ again," she says, and my heart swells.

"I'd like that very much."

* * *

My Sunday morning is spent in church, trying my best not to fixate on just what Rachel and I did last night, and rather focus on what it means for us. We were both right when we agreed we're not ready for 'all the way,' but we're getting there, which is terrifying and exhilarating and I realise that I wouldn't even know _what_ to do. I mean, this is all so new to both of us, and neither of us has truly acknowledged our sexuality. Is it too easy to say I'm attracted to only Rachel Berry and then _boys_? But am I even still attracted to boys? I mean, what would that make me then? Bisexual? Straight, but gay for Rachel? I don't _want_ to label it, but I think it will help with our _readiness_. Well, with _mine_.

It's something we should probably talk about but, when I get back to the Berry house, Rachel and I decidedly _don't_ talk, though our mouths do plenty of work. She's a girl on a mission as she strips me of my dress, leaving me in only my bra and panties, a matching set that's blue in colour. It's the most exposed I've been since that night in the hot tub, but it's different this time. This time, she's _looking_ , her eyes roaming over every inch of my body, as if she's searching for something.

My tattoo, I realise, belatedly.

She steps back, pouting. "Quinn Fabray, _where_ is it?" she whines.

I blink a few times, trying not to falter under the heat of her gaze. Body image has been a thing I've struggled with in the past, but there's a certain hunger in Rachel's eyes that tells me she likes what she sees. I've worked very hard to maintain my body, and seeing her response to it makes it all the more worth it. There's _that_ worry, yes, but then there's also the scars to fuss over. From my father, yes, but also from cheering and clumsiness and... myself. _And_ I have lingering stretch marks from Beth that have, thankfully, attempted to blend into my pale skin. But, the _scars_. Some are more noticeable than others and, if she sees them, she makes no comment. I suspect we'll have another conversation about them at some point, but now we're both a little drunk with _want_.

"I'm still wearing too many clothes," I tell her, practically purring.

She closes the gap between us in an instant, and I step back, my body hitting the door with a thud. Her lips are on mine in the next beat and I hear her turn the lock on the door. It isn't as if her fathers are home right now, but they do have a tendency of showing up when they really shouldn't, and I'd much rather not have LeRoy or Hiram know just what we get up to. I'm struggling enough with God knowing.

I just - I don't see how _this_ could be wrong.

I moan into her mouth when her hands massage my breasts, fingers rolling my nipples and turning me to putty. My hands are under her top, touching the smooth skin of her back and tugging her closer. I lose patience quickly, pulling her top off her in one move, our lips separating for only a few seconds before they're fused again. We're not nearly at the same level of undress, and my fingers slide down to unzip her jeans, my mind flashing with memories about the last time I did this. She lets me, as her mouth moves down to my throat. When she hums against my pulse point, I moan again, my fingers fumbling. God, why is it so difficult to concentrate?

She has to help and, once her jeans are off, she presses against me again, and we just kiss and touch. Hands move, down and up and over and under and it's building and building. Eventually, Rachel grabs for my hands and pulls us towards her bed. "We're not having sex," she says, sounding breathless and needy. "We're just going to - "

I cut her off by pushing her down onto the bed and crawling over her, pinning her down with my body. The skin to skin contact is nearly enough to send me over the edge, but I hold on as I resume our kissing, and my hands start on their exploration once more. Having her beneath me is buckets better than having her pressed up against me... not that I'd complain, really. Just being able to touch her is amazing.

"God, Quinn," she purrs when my thigh shifts between her legs, and I _feel_ her. She's slick and wet and _ohmygod_. Whoa, whoa. I can feel her heat; her _throbbing_. Maybe it's just _that_ , or the panting in my ear, or the way her thigh is just perfectly positioned, but I come undone within minutes, and I jerk and shudder and bury my face in the crook of her neck to muffle the sound of my quiet, satisfied moan. I barely have time to recover before Rachel is letting go beneath me, her body tensing and then trembling.

We lie perfectly still as we come back down from the high, and then I roll to her right side, a mirror image of the previous night. Only, today, we're substantially undressed, and the evidence of arousal is much clearer. It's even in the air; it's practically burned on our skin.

"Remind me again why we've waited so long to do that," Rachel murmurs, and I can't help my smile. "We should do that _every day_."

I run a hand through my hair, shifting my bra upwards. "Oh boy, I've created a monster."

"What's that?"

I look at her. "What's what?"

She rolls onto her side and props herself up on an elbow. "There," she says, pointing at my side and preventing me from dropping my arm. Without preamble, she undoes the front clasp of my bra, and shifts it out of the way. Her eyes stay on my breasts for a moment before she schools herself and her eyes settle on the side of my left breast where my usually-hidden tattoo is fully visible. I picked the spot specifically to be able to hide it with my bra strap. It's referred to as side boob, practically under my arm, which should be funny if it didn't hurt like crazy when the needle was attacking my skin. I'm a Cheerio, and who's really going to see me this undressed other than Rachel Berry? It's small, four letters long, and holds enough meaning to last me a lifetime.

 _Beth_

Rachel trails her fingers over the letters embedded in my skin, her eyes watching her own movements. "Beth," she whispers, almost in awe. "Will you tell me about her one day?"

I nod automatically. I'm just so relieved she's not asking for us to talk about my daughter _right now_ , because I'd like to be sufficiently dressed when that happens.

"It's beautiful," she says, returning to lie on her back. "Like you."

I can't help my blush as I reach for her hand and lift it to my lips the same way she did with mine last night. This has been a weekend of firsts and we're just getting started. She's crawling her way into me, and I'm welcoming her with open arms.

"Quinn?"

I roll my neck to look at her, my smile lazy and content. "Hmm?"

Slowly, a naughty smile spreads across her face. "We're doing that again," she says, and then she's moving.

* * *

After quick, _separate_ showers, we head downstairs for lunch. Unsurprisingly, I'm starving, and Rachel is keen on ordering some takeout. I don't argue with her. I just tell her what I want and go into the living room to find us something to watch. I'm still flicking through the channels when Rachel enters the room and settles herself in my lap, her arms snaking around my neck. I can feel her eyes on me, even as I keep mine focused on the television.

"Quinn," she whines.

I still don't look at her.

"Quinn?"

"No."

"But, Quinn," she says, leaning in close enough for her sweet breath to wash over me. "Please."

I suck in a breath at her tone of voice. "Rachel, we can't," I say, forcing the words out.

"But I _want_ to."

"I don't care."

She pouts, knowing full well I can't resist her when she does that. "Pretty please."

I sigh, hating that I'm giving in so easily. "Fine," I huff, and she squeals in excitement, bouncing off me and going in search of whatever she's suckered me into. I've just settled on a music channel when she waltzes back into the room, carrying the _Scrabble_ box. Oh, boy.

"The usual wager," she says, starting to set up the game. "I win, you sing a duet with me. You win, you get whatever you want."

I raise my eyebrows. "Whatever I want, huh?"

She nods. "I have to give you a reason to keep playing with me, even if I keep losing."

I shake my head. "Rach, why do you want to sing a duet with me so badly?" I ask, because it's turning into a bit of an obsession now. There has to be some reason she's so adamant about the two of us singing together.

"I think our voices compliment each other quite well," she says, but it's not all of it, so I just wait. Eventually, she sighs, and comes to sit right next to me. She looks at my face as her hands take hold of both of mine and bring them into her lap. "Music is a language to me, Quinn. It's a way in which I express myself and, as much as I already share that with you, I still want to _share_ it with you. There's just something magical about singing with the one person in the world who makes your stomach do a flipflop just by looking at you or who makes the great big world completely fall away whenever you kiss. So, yes, I want to sing _with_ you, and I'm willing to wager _every single time_."

I lean towards her and kiss her forehead. "Rachel Berry, if it means that much to you; all you have to do is _ask_ ," I tell her because, in all this time, I can't recall a time she's actually just _asked_.

She bristles slightly, a smile on her face. "Now, where's the fun in that?"

I laugh lightly. "Okay then, I suppose I'll have to make you work for it."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she says brightly. "We'll keep playing until I win."

"I have plans for us this afternoon," I tell her, shaking my head. "I have an entire week to make up for."

"I think you've more than made up for our disaster of our one monthiversary," she says suggestively, her breath warm against my neck as she leans in to kiss the underside of my jaw.

"Oh?"

"Definitely."

I blush furiously, which is completely ridiculous, given the way I was unashamedly rubbing myself off on her just an hour ago.

"Why are you so stinking cute?" she asks, kissing my cheek.

"I work very hard at it," I say with a smirk.

"Is that your day job?"

I nod.

"Don't quit it."


	24. twenty-four

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _eyes that commit.  
_ _that is what I am looking for._

 _._

What Quinn has planned to _make it up to me_ involves my getting dressed into _decent_ clothes and being forced to wait in my bedroom while she does whatever she's doing to prepare somewhere downstairs. I'm impatient and irritated with the fact she won't answer any of my questions, but I sit obediently at my desk and try to work on my homework while I wait. It feels like hours, which is probably more along the lines of twenty minutes, before there's a note being shoved under my door. I catch sight of it, jump up from my seat and bend to retrieve it from the floor.

 _Rachel Berry_

 _Today, we're testing your Astrology knowledge.  
Based on our Zodiac signs, tell me, are we compatible?  
_ _Text me when you figure it out.  
_ _I think you'll be pleasantly surprised._

 _\- Q_

I can't help my grin because this is so like Quinn. I return to my desk, abandon my homework, and _Google_ Zodiac signs. Based on our birthdays, Quinn is Aquarius and I'm Sagittarius, and we're... compatible. I find myself smiling at the words I read, my eyes scanning through several different sights.

.

" _Sagittarius and Aquarius are a great match! The Sagittarius' inquisitiveness and enthusiasm works perfectly with Aquarius' vision and forward thinking, while overall you have a very similar approach to life_."

" _When Sagittarius and Aquarius join together in a love match, Aquarian ideals and Sagittarian knowledge combine to make them a creative and unique couple_."

" _Underneath any romantic overtone, there exists a great friendship_."

" _As long as they communicate their happiness about the relationship, they will overcome any bumps in the road, major or minor_."

" _Although there's a strong idealistic chemistry that flows between you, translating that to the physical realm can be somewhat awkward_."

" _Their formidable combination makes theirs a relationship of outward motion as well as inward depth_."

.

There are surprising elements that I read. Truthful things, about how Quinn and I started out as just friends - trying and failing to remain platonic - and about how great we _can_ be, provided we continue to communicate properly... which, admittedly, we haven't always been very good at. What _does_ bother me is that our physical relationship is supposed to be difficult, which it isn't. Not really. I mean, we're moving at a steady pace, growing into that aspect of our relationship. I want Quinn to be ready, emotionally and mentally. And I _can't_ be ready until she is, because I won't lose my virginity to someone who isn't certain they're in love with me.

It isn't as if I can't tell the feelings are there. I can see it in the way she looks at me and feel it in the way she touches me, but the words have never come, and I don't know why I'm so fixated on this. Intrinsically, I _know_ how she feels about me, but there's an irrational part of me that needs the confirmation; the affirmed commitment. I need her to say the words out loud, for whatever reason, and I don't know how to bring it up to her.

I sigh, and then reach for my phone to text Quinn. A minute later, there's a knock on my door, and my excitement is back, sending me out of my chair. As soon as I've opened the door, I'm flinging my arms around her, burying my face in the crook of her neck and just _breathing_. This girl is special. Everything she is and everything she isn't. I love _love_ her.

"So?" she asks, her voice barely a murmur. "Are we?"

I pull back. "Are we what?"

"Compatible?"

I press a firm kiss to her lips. "Something tells me you already know the answer to that question."

She's smiling now. "I want to hear you say it."

"We're compatible, Quinn Fabray," I whisper, and she kisses me. It's slow and tender, a kiss that's purely a kiss, and I love her. I _love_ her. When we pull apart, I release her to grab my phone and my purse, the standard items for a date with my cryptic and secretive girlfriend. At least, I _think_ we're going on a date.

"Just so you know," she says, eyeing my belongings; "we're making an extended pitstop in the kitchen."

"Oh?"

"Mmhmm."

We stare at each other for the longest moment before I break the silence. "So, you had me put on decent clothes to _cook_?"

She chuckles. "No, Rachel," she says carefully. "I made you get dressed to watch _me_ cook."

"Naked?"

Now, she lets out a full-body laugh, and my heart dances at the sound. _I_ made that happen. "I suppose I could be persuaded to strip a few layers, if the incentive is worth it." There's a bit of heat in her voice, and my body involuntarily reacts, making me squirm.

That horoscope is _so_ wrong.

I frown slightly, needing her to know. "They're wrong, you know?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Oh?"

I nod. "Our physical relationship is perfectly fine."

She grins at me, immediately knowing to what I'm referring. "It is, isn't it?"

"No awkwardness at all."

"Don't jinx us now," she teases, reaching for my hand. "Are you ready?"

I just nod, and allow her to lead me downstairs into the kitchen. She makes me sit down on a stool at the breakfast nook, kisses my forehead, and then glides away from me. It always fascinates me how at home she is in the kitchen. In _my_ kitchen. It's... sexy, and I really am content to sit here and watch her. She puts on her 'Kiss the Little Chef' apron and gets to work, moving around with practiced ease. She slices vegetables, occasionally popping pieces into her mouth... and mine. We kiss _a lot_ \- it's the apron, really - and the food almost burns several times. It's easy to get carried away, really. Anyone would understand if they had the privilege of kissing Quinn Fabray.

As much as I want to ask questions about _why_ she's cooking when we've just had lunch, I hold my tongue. Quinn cooks and dances and sings and kisses me whenever she picks up something from the fridge. This is easy, and it's lovely, and I can't help wondering about what our future _could_ be like. In New York, maybe. Quinn and I haven't really spoken about it, and I don't know how to bring it up without forcing her to talk about _feelings_.

This all just feels very domestic, and I can't stop myself from imagining Quinn and me in _our_ own kitchen, in _our_ own house. Years from now, when we're both successful in our respectful careers, living happy and full lives... _together_. I wonder if we'll be married or have children or just be blissful with each other. I wonder if she wonders about it too.

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

She nods, even though she's a little distracted by the pan on the stove. "What's up?"

I suck in a deep breath before I ask my question. "Would you ever want to marry me?"

Her hands cease all movement, and she looks at me, her eyes meeting mine. "Rachel?"

"It's just a question, Quinn," I say, as if I haven't just said words that could possibly _change_ things. "I'm just curious, you know, with all this wedding stuff going on with Mr Schue and Miss Pillsbury, what your thoughts are on the matter." I blink. "Okay, maybe I'm asking the wrong question... would you ever _want_ to get married?"

The rephrasing doesn't seem to help with her facial expression. In fact, it just pinches that bit more, but I'm unable to look away. "Rachel," she starts. "You _do_ know I haven't got the best example of a marriage to look to, right?"

"I know," I say.

She sighs, absently turning off the burners on the stove and moving to stand just beside me. "For so long, this was what was expected of me," she says. "Find a boy, and marry him. Have the perfect, all-American wedding, and eventual life. Have the two-point-five children and be the perfect wife and mother. It was all _expected_ , but then everything just kind of fell apart. It started with Beth, I suppose. Even though she's not in my life, she's the best thing that's ever happened to me, because she's brought me so much good in my life.

"I learned more about myself, and discovered the person I've been trying to be. I learned more about Finn, whom, I've come to realise, probably isn't worth my time anymore. He'll always be Beth's father, and we'll be linked in that way for the rest of our lives, but he's never been part of the _good_. His breaking up with me was the _good_. I've learned that my family is severely fucked up, and I'm still trying to come to terms with where I fit into the clusterfuck that is the Fabray clan." She closes her eyes. "I've learned that maybe marriage isn't for everyone. _My_ parents definitely weren't built for it. I mean, besides the keeping up appearances; I don't think they were ever truly in love. And then my father had an affair, and she kicked him out. I suppose my family is consistent in that regard. Do something bad and end up homeless." She sounds bitter, and her face twists into something I don't recognise, before she sighs again and continues.

"I've learned there's more for me out there. I don't have to do what's expected. I can be who I am, and I can do what I wish to without risking disappointing people who clearly don't give a shit about me." She smiles faintly. "And then there's you. I learned more about you, and I discovered this wonderful, glorious person, whom I can't even imagine living my life without. I don't know if I would want to get married, Rachel, because I'm not sure I would be good at it." I want to argue that point, but she just continues speaking. "But I would try," she says. "If the person was right, I would try my level hardest to be the best wife I could."

Just thinking of Quinn as a _wife_ makes my heart skip a beat.

"I assume you want to get married?" she says.

I blink, bringing myself back. "I've had it all planned for a very long time," I remind her.

She raises her eyebrows. "You do know not everything goes to plan, right?"

I laugh and reach for her closest hand. "I _do_ know, actually," I say. "I mean, look at us. Tell me this was part of _your_ plan?"

" _I_ definitely didn't see this coming," she confesses, and I'm inclined to agree. "Which, I suppose, just goes to show how much control we actually _don't_ have. We can plan and plan; we can say we're not sure about marriage, but how can we really know until it's time?"

"Is this about faith?" I find myself asking.

She looks caught off guard.

I backtrack. "I mean, it isn't as if we would be able to get married in a church, and I assume that's always been important to you."

Quinn looks bewildered, as if she doesn't know how we got so off track. "Uh..."

"Sorry," I murmur. "I don't meant to put you on the spot like this. I'm just curious."

She runs a shaky hand over her hair. "To be honest, I haven't really given it much thought," she admits. "There's already so much to think about right now, and that far in the future is already daunting enough."

I nod in understanding.

"But, I will tell you this, Rach," she starts; "whatever is meant to happen in my life... I believe it will find a way of happening. _That's_ my faith. Whatever is meant to be, _will_. If it means I _do_ get married, then I shall. If it means I marry a woman - _you_ \- then I will. It's part of a plan I've conceded to, and I'm trusting in the Universe and God that whatever has to happen in my life will happen."

I wait a beat. "You - you would be open to marrying _me_?"

"Is that _all_ you took away from what I just said?"

I blush. "Yes?"

She chuckles, her hands moving to cup my cheeks. "Then, yes, I would," she says, leaning in to kiss me slowly, deeply. I pull her closer, turning my body until she's standing between my legs and my arms are wrapped around her waist, holding her firmly. It's a relatively innocent kiss, given all we've been doing this weekend but, somehow, _this_ feels like so much more. It feels like a promise of sorts; a promise of a future.

Together.

Eventually, she pulls away and resumes her cooking. I just watch in silence, trying to reconcile the idea that she could admit to potentially marrying me when she can't even tell me she loves me. I try to tell myself they're just words, but the thought sits on my brain, just waiting. Quinn finishes up and packs everything away in containers and then into a cooler.

We _are_ going out, apparently. I let Quinn lead me out of the house, lock the door, and dictate the afternoon. I _know_ we're going to the park - it's our Sunday routine by now - so I'm not surprised when we pull up to the parking lot and she climbs out. She grabs the cooler before she opens my door, and I resist the urge to kiss her as I slide out of the SUV.

Quinn slips her hand into mine as we walk, and I step closer to her... to hide our hands between us. It's automatic by now, and I'm not sure I like the reasons behind it, but I do like snuggling into her side. She's warm and present, and it's moments like these that make me love her so much more. They're easy and simple, and I want a lifetime of these moments. Does that mean I want a lifetime with Quinn? Yes, yes it does. I've known the truth of it for a while and, as scary as I should find making such proclamations at such a young age, I'm strangely calm about it all.

Quinn leads the way through the trees to our spot, and I stand back while she sets up the picnic blanket and settles down in all her graceful glory. She pats the space beside her and I jerk into motion, dropping down in a heap and sighing. "Hi," she says.

"Hello," I breathe, kissing her quickly.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm perfect," I assure her. "I'm... happy."

"You are?"

"I'm always happy when I'm with you."

"Are you high right now?"

"On you?"

She chuckles. "My goodness, what am I ever going to do with you?"

"Whatever you want."

She leans forward and kisses my cheek. "Whatever I want, huh?"

"You _did_ beat me at _Scrabble_ , Quinn," I remind her. "You get _whatever you want_."

Her eyes drop down to look at my lips, but she doesn't make a move. Well, not forward, at least. She leans back slightly and digs in the cooler for a bottle of water. To cool off, maybe. I just watch as she downs half the bottle, my eyes fixated on the column of her throat as she swallows.

"Do you know what I want?" she eventually asks.

"What?"

"I know we have more things to talk about, but can I please have a rain-check for after Regionals?" she whispers. "It's just draining, emotionally, and I'm going to need all the energy I can to get through this week. So are you."

"Particularly because we don't even have our setlist sorted out," I grumble, and this time she does kiss me, quick and then slow. And then even slower, until she's stopped entirely.

"We're going to be fine," she assures me.

"We are," I agree. "It's part of who we are. Whatever happens to us, we always find a way to pull it together in the end."

"It's like magic."

"You're like magic."

She just shakes her head, and then kisses me again. I fall back against the blanket, and she leans over me, her lips on my skin and my fingers in her hair. We're supposed to talk, but I can see the merit in postponing that particular activity. We have a busy week ahead of us, and how could I ever say no to Quinn Fabray, really?

When the sun starts to set, Quinn takes out the food and we enjoy a light dinner, chatting lightly and laughing freely. She packs up afterwards and, instead of heading home, we go shopping for sheet music. I'm surprised the store is still open or that Quinn even knows it is.

"Anything you want," she says. "It's on me."

I giggle. "Do you know how dangerous it is to say that to me?"

"I've budgeted for it," she murmurs, smiling knowingly as she sets me free to browse.

I'm still looking for that elusive song, and I reason the chances of finding it have increased dramatically because Quinn is with me, but she isn't even looking _with_ me. She's standing in the aisle opposite me, sifting through the music slowly and decidedly not paying attention to me. Which gives me the opportunity to bring up the one thing I've been putting off, in an attempt not to add to the tumultuous week we've already had.

"So, we want to visit NYADA's campus over Spring Break," I say, idly sifting through the sheet music in front of me. Quinn doesn't respond; just arches an eyebrow to acknowledge the words I've said. "I haven't been to New York with my dads in a few years, and I really want to spend some time getting reacquainted with my potential future home city." I grin at her. "With you."

Her movements still, and she turns to face me properly. "What?"

"I want you to come to New York with us," I say, being clear and direct. I'm not even _asking_ her. She should know by now that she doesn't have much of a choice. Or, any at all. She's coming with us, no matter what. Because, truly, I wouldn't want to leave her here, and I want her with me, _always_. I would miss her too much, and I want to experience New York with her. The Big Apple. Just the thought of getting to _be_ with Quinn in New York excites me.

"Rachel," she breathes, and I just know what's coming.

"Don't," I say, keeping my eyes on her. "I wouldn't ask you to come with us if my dads and I hadn't already talked about it and made the decision together."

She arches an eyebrow. "But you're not actually asking, are you?"

I shake my head. "I want you with me," I say; "don't you want to come with us?"

"Don't do that," she says, rolling her eyes. "We both know it's not that. I just - shouldn't this be about you and your fathers? I don't want to impose, Berry, and I'm pretty certain you're bound to get sick of having me around so much."

"Quinn Fabray," I snap. "Don't you dare say such a thing!"

She presses her lips together, sufficiently chastised.

I move around the sheet music to where she's standing and position myself close enough to be suspicious. I suddenly don't care. "Baby, look at me," I whisper, and she does, her eyes shining. "What's bothering you?"

Her eyes drift over my face. "How long have you been planning this trip to New York?" she asks.

I falter. "Uh... Since I applied to NYADA."

"Which was before we started this whole thing, right?"

I nod.

"Which means that you're changing your plans for me, and that... makes me uncomfortable," she confesses. "I feel as if I've monopolised enough of your life, and I - "

I slip my hand into hers. "What if I told you the only thing that would change about our trip if you came is that we'll probably have to buy bacon?"

She raises her eyebrows in question.

"I'm getting my own room anyway, so you'll just sleep with me," I tell her, ignoring just what those words could mean. "We're driving, so it's not as if you're an extra plane ticket or anything. We want your _company_ , Quinn, and I like the idea of your seeing where I'll potentially live. It's important to me, so I'm asking now. Will you please come with us, so I can kiss you in Times Square and hold your hand on Broadway and dance with you in the streets, shouting out to people who _don't care_ that I am so hopelessly and unconditionally in love with you?"

Her breath hitches.

"Say yes."

"Yes."

I beam at her, just managing to resist the urge to rise up and kiss her soundly. She notices, and a grin takes over her face. I sigh. "I _really_ want to kiss you right now," I tell her, somewhat unnecessarily.

She doesn't look away. "We should go home," she says.

"We should."

Quinn is calmer than I am as she pays for the sheet music, and as we make our way to her car. She opens the door for me, and I can't resist brushing my body against her as I climb in. She exhales slowly, shoots me a heated look, and then closes the door. I watch her take a calming breath before she walks around the car and gets into the driver's side. It's moot, though, because, as soon as she's settled, I start to touch. Unashamedly. I run my hands along her thighs, over her abdomen, and try not to distract her _too much_. She _is_ driving, after all. I just - I can't resist. She halfheartedly tries to swat my hands away, but the darkening of her hazel eyes tells me she's definitely not serious about it.

When she pulls into my driveway, we're orderly and steady as we make our way to the house. I unlock the front door, my mind already wandering to the very idea of Quinn and her hands and her mouth and her body pressed against mine. I get flushed just thinking about it, and I'm literally buzzing. I want nothing more than to take her up to my bedroom and -

"Rachel, Sweetheart, is that you?"

I groan audibly, and Quinn and I exchange a look. She looks equal parts annoyed and amused, but I'm just annoyed. Quinn just kisses my cheek, chuckles lightly, and then walks into the living room to greet my dads. I spend a moment schooling my features, so I don't _look_ irritated at the fact my dads are home to throw a spanner into Quinn's and my impromptu plans to make out and... do other things.

When I enter the living room, I paste a smile on my face and move to sit right beside Quinn, tucking myself into her side as I greet my dads with such false cheer that makes Quinn actually laugh at me. My dads look a little perplexed, but Quinn appeases them with questions about their day at the farmer's market, and their subsequent afternoon date. My Daddy starts to tell Quinn about the student art gallery they visited, while my Dad just complains about the deterioration of art through all these _modern_ influences. My girlfriend listens intently, even as she takes my hand in both of hers and plays with my fingers. She traces the lines of my palms, her fingertips gentle and purposeful as they slide through the ridges, and it does wonders to ease my irritation with _her_ for engaging my dads instead of trying to make an escape.

"No, really," my Dad continues. "Modern art... some of it scares me."

Quinn frowns. "Why?"

"I don't know what it is, but there were some pieces that were just... disturbing."

"In what sense?"

I growl deep in my throat, and Quinn gives me a curious look. Why is she still engaging when we could be upstairs doing lots of other things? I sigh. "What do you mean, Dad?" I ask, trying not to get distracted by the movement of Quinn's fingers.

He seems to consider this. "I don't know if it's just because I'm part of the older generation or if the younger one just has no boundaries these days, but a lot of the art pieces were _graphic_ ," he explains. "About women, about sex, and about violence."

I sit up straight when I note the severity in my Dad's tone. "Dad?"

He takes a breath. "It was eye-opening," he says quietly. "And frightening."

Quinn glances at me before she turns back to him. "Hiram, what's wrong?"

"We just worry," he says. "The way this world views women and girls... it's not... good. And, as fathers, it's worrying." He leans back in his seat. "Of course, this worry is nothing new for us, but it's manifesting right now because you two are about to leave home and face the real world and I just... worry."

"We both do," my Daddy adds.

Quinn's hands grow still and her body tenses.

"We hear stories about college these days," my Dad continues. "We _know_ about the difficulties of peer pressure and the experiences of college parties, but we are boys, and it's different. It shouldn't be - we're trying to be a part of the feminist movement - but the reality is that boys and girls are very different. And now you're... _two_ girls... and you have to take care of each other, and..." he trails off, his voice catching.

I look at my Daddy, asking him the silent question.

"We had an encounter at the gallery," he explains. "It's brought up some of his - _our_ \- fears... for the two of you, out there, in the big, bad, scary world."

Quinn's fingers squeeze mine.

"There are dangers in this world that you are protected from when you're here with us," my Dad says. "You're safe here, and I suppose I've just been feeling a little helpless thinking about the two of you having to face the world without us around when you graduate." He wipes at his eyes. "The world can be ugly, and I worry we haven't prepared you enough for what's coming."

I swallow audibly, and Quinn's grip tightens. I don't even think she's realised she's done it.

"There are cruel people in this world," he says. "Whether from ignorance or deep-seeded hate, and today I realised I won't always be able to protect you from it."

Quinn shifts uncomfortably, and I can tell she's remembering our talk from last night. She _knows_ unexplainable hatred and cruelty. I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around her and hold her until all of the world finds peace. I'd be holding her forever.

"People will look at your bodies, and they will look at your choices and try to undermine you," my Dad says. "They'll try to tell you who you are, which is why it's important that you already know. People will try to tear you down because you're both beautiful, strong and independent women, and it's important you hold onto your strengths and your beliefs. They will try to break you, through hateful words and actions, through violence and degradation, but you just have to remain true to yourselves and who you are. Every day, you remain true, and this world won't touch you."

Quinn is trembling beside me. I want to tell my Dad to stop talking, but I have no explanation. Quinn and I didn't discuss it explicitly, but I'm assuming that everything we discussed about her father is to remain between us. Just telling my dads now would upset everyone, and what can we possibly do now anyway? Russell Fabray, hopefully, will remain out of Quinn's life while she finishes up with school, and then we'll look at what happens next.

"Don't let them break you," my Dad finally says, and I reason this has more to do with him than to do with me.

My Daddy slides an arm around his shoulders, and looks at us with kind eyes. "We brought home some cheesecake," he says quietly. "It's in the kitchen."

We take it as our cue to give them a moment, and we both rise to our feet and make our way out of the room. When we're in the kitchen, Quinn wraps her arms around me and we just hold each other, tight enough to hurt. I just - I don't want to have to think about these things. We shouldn't have to. It should be safe for women. It should be simple to be able to love whomever you want. It should be _better_.

Quinn kisses the top of my head, releasing me. "So, cheesecake, huh?"

We eat in silence, sitting huddled together at the breakfast nook. Her hand rests on my thigh, her fingers drawing idle patterns as she pretends to enjoy the slice of lemon cheesecake we're sharing. I can tell my Dad's words are sitting on her brain - I'm faring no better - but I don't want it to put a dampener on our wonderful weekend. I mean, today was _great_... which just makes me wonder. While we were hidden in the park, we really weren't paying attention. We kissed freely, but anyone could have stumbled upon us, and who knows what could have happened then?

When we've forced down our dessert, Quinn gets up to do the few dishes, and I follow to help. I know she uses the simple act as a form of therapy - I've never understood it - so it's a bit of relief to see the tension leave her shoulders with every plate she soaps.

"So, I had an idea," Quinn says after a few minutes, and I give her my undivided attention. "All that talk about our physical relationship and this stuff about femininity in general has me thinking about how many times I actually compliment you about your appearance."

I frown in confusion.

She smiles faintly - _my_ smile. "Don't get me wrong, Berry; I _love_ the way you look. I just - I don't want you to think it's the only reason I'm with you, or the only thing I see."

"I don't think that, Quinn."

"And I'd like to keep it that way," she says. "Which is why I've decided to pay you compliments that have nothing to do with your physical appearance."

I blink. "Oh?"

She nods. "Starting right now."

I lean forward in anticipation, just waiting.

"Rachel Berry, you are so empowering," she whispers, and my heart smiles. She meets me halfway and we share the softest of kisses, fully aware that my dads are just in the living room. I'm not against public displays of affection in my own house, but Quinn _has_ always been a little hesitant whenever my dads are in the same room, or even the next one over. It took her a while to be comfortable enough to hold my hand and cuddle with me in front of them. I reason it's to do with her upbringing - as in, she's conservative and not openly affectionate around adults - but she's growing into it.

Like, well, right now.

I pull back from the kiss, only for her to follow, keeping our lips attached. I automatically smile, and she breathes into my mouth, her breath sweet and slightly tangy from our dinner and its subsequent dessert.

"And you are so strong," she says against my mouth, and I kiss her harder. "Everything you are, and everything you're not... you just inspire me to be a better person."

I slip my arms around her neck and slowly draw her tongue into my mouth, feeling bold about stepping this kiss up a notch. I mean, she can't expect to say all those wonderful things to me and not have me react. This way, in particular. When I do let out a moan - she bites my bottom lip, sue me - we're forced to pull apart, and I'm breathless, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Honestly, it's as if I forget the world exists whenever I'm in her arms. Which, in hindsight, might not always be such a good thing but, right now, I'm not complaining.

Even though we're not kissing, I stay in her arms for a while, just breathing her breath and smiling foolishly. This weekend has been monumental for us, and I don't want it to end. I don't want her to leave tonight and have us return to school as if nothing's changed. Because so much _has_. I can't pinpoint what exactly - besides the obvious physical aspect - but I'm just going to enjoy it. I _want_ to.

Eventually, Quinn returns to the dishes and, once she's done, she heads upstairs to my bedroom and starts gathering her things as if she's about to leave.

"Uh, what are you doing?" I ask.

She looks at me, a little confused. "I'm going to my house," she says. "Why?"

I frown. "I thought - " I start. "I thought we were going to, you know?"

She raises her eyebrows. "I... don't know, actually," she says.

"Quinn."

"Rachel."

I move to stand right in front of her. "If you expect to leave this house without my having my dirty way with you, then you are _severely_ mistaken."

She lets out an unexpected laugh. "Is that right, huh?"

"It is, yes."

"With your fathers right there?"

"They're downstairs."

"Think you can be quiet?"

"I'll try."

She shakes her head. "Rachel?"

"Baby?"

"As much as I _want_ to, I don't think I _can_ ," she confesses, dropping her gaze and fidgeting nervously. "If we were alone, and if - " she stops. "Look, I just don't think I can... I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I immediately say, reaching for one of her fidgeting hands. "Please. You don't have to explain yourself to me. If you're not comfortable, then you're not comfortable, and I won't push you to do anything you don't _want_ to do. I hope you know that."

"I do," she says, quickly and without hesitation. Then, she smiles faintly and says, "Is this what our horoscopes were talking about?"

I return her smile, shaking my head. "It's not _awkward_ , baby. We just have to keep communicating."

She steps into my space. "We do," she echoes. "And we have to look after each other."

I lift my hands and fiddle with the buttons of her white shirt, nibbling at my bottom lip. "Does what they said worry you?"

"It does," she admits with a nod. "I like to think I can take care of myself, but this is all new to me. I've never had to protect myself against people's prejudices against my sexuality and, if your fathers are as worried as they are, then I think we should be too. We should be careful, and we should be vigilant. Out there, it isn't just that we're girls; it's also that we _like_ girls."

I blink. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Like girls?"

She frowns. "I thought that was obvious."

"No, Quinn," I say. "I'm asking: do you like girls _only_ , or is it just me, or..." I trail off, unsure what more to ask.

"Are you asking me if I'm gay, or bisexual or whatever it is I am?"

I drop my gaze, but nod anyway.

"Gay," she says, seriously and strongly. "Definitely, gay."

My gaze meets hers. "Aren't you going to ask me?"

"If you want to tell me, you can," she says; "but no, I'm not going to ask."

"Don't you want to know?"

"It doesn't matter to me," she says, her hands on my hips. "As long as it's me you want, it doesn't matter to me. The way I see it, if you _are_ bisexual, it just means more to me that you've chosen to be with _me_ , because there's just so much more for you to choose from, and it's amazing that, out of both sexes, I'm the one person you - "

"Okay," I interrupt. "Easy there, ego maniac." I give her a chaste kiss. "I'm gay."

"Oh?"

I nod. "Definitely."

She chuckles softly, leaning in and brushing her lips over mine. "I'm glad we've cleared that up."

"Me, too."

"We'll face everything as it comes," she assures me. "We'll take it one day at a time."

"Quinn?"

"Little Star."

"I love you."

And, right on cue, she kisses me. Hard. It's practically bruising, and I melt into her body, accepting whatever it is she's comfortable enough to give me. Her hands slide down from my hips, cup my ass and pull me close enough that every bit of my body is pressing against her. My fingers move into her hair, almost automatically, and she deepens the kiss, changing the angle and drawing a deep moan from my chest. She really is very talented, and I have to tell her.

"You really are very good at this," I murmur.

She hums against my neck, her teeth nibbling at the sensitive skin. "You make it easy."

"Are you calling me easy?" I tease, and she pulls back enough to look into my eyes.

"I've never had to work so hard for anybody in my entire life," she says, her hazel eyes dark and serious. "But, every struggle has been worth it, Rachel Berry. Every single one."

Before I can question her at all, she's kissing me again. It's all we do. We just stand in the middle of my carpeted floor, wrapped up in each other's arms and _kiss_. Truthfully, I could probably kiss her for all of eternity. If I didn't have to eat and sleep and go to school and sing and perform; this is what I would be doing with my life, really.

Eventually, we do pull apart and Quinn resumes gathering her belongings. She doesn't take everything - she never does - just the necessary things, and then I'm walking her downstairs. She says goodnight to my dads, and then we head out to her car together. It's dark outside - the moon's hiding, apparently - which is probably why we're as bold with our goodbye as we are.

She leans against the back door after putting her duffel bag away, her eyes meeting mine. "I know this week wasn't all you wanted, but - "

"It was better," I interrupt.

"It was?"

I nod. "All I've ever wanted was for you to let me all the way in," I confess. "I know it isn't easy for you, so I appreciate everything about this week. Our two-month celebration can be fancy and all that. I'm just glad to have you here with me, talking to me, _being_ with me."

She draws me into a hug, and I lean against her, our bodies pressed together. Our neighbours could see, but I reason Quinn's not thinking about that when she leans down and captures my lips in a slow, steady kiss that makes me want to drag her upstairs to my bedroom. Or... I could just open her backdoor and -

Quinn smiles against my mouth. "Rachel Berry," she murmurs.

"Quinn Fabray," I return, nibbling at her bottom lip.

She sighs contently. "I am _so_ happy you exist."

I peck her lips once, twice, and then pull back to look at her. There's fascination in her eyes, wonder, deep affection and... _love_.

Quinn's hands tighten at my waist, and she smiles lazily. This must be smile number nine now. She just looks... happy, content, and I _know_ I put it there. "I hope we know each other for forever."

There's no hesitation in my voice when I respond. "We will, Quinn," I say. "This _is_ for forever. I just know it."


	25. twenty-five

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _be insecure in peace.  
_ _allow yourself lowness.  
_ _know that it is only a country on the way to who you are._

 _._

"I bet, if Britney Spears knew you, 2008 would have definitely gone very differently for her."

Rachel lets out a belly laugh as she turns away from her locker to face me, a bright smile on her face. "Wow," she says, playfully poking me in the ribs. "How long did it take you to come up with that one?"

"Normal people just say thank you when they've been complimented," I grumble.

"Well, I think it's been widely established that I'm decidedly not normal," she says, shrugging slightly. Her smile is so wide, it's blinding. "Honestly, I don't know why you're _choosing_ to date me. I'm neurotic on my best days. What does that say about you?"

I just shake my head. "Good morning to you too, Berry."

She bounces once, and then I get a hug without warning. I automatically wrap my arms around her waist, and we hold each other for a beat too long. She releases me first, and we stare at each other for another one of those beats. "Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"We have to stop looking at each other like this," she says.

"We really do."

"Someone's going to figure it out if we don't."

I nod in agreement, unable to look away. "They probably will."

"And then what?"

"Who knows?" I say with a shrug.

"You are dangerous."

"And you are the epitome of everything I want in this world."

She gasps at the sound of my words, which is rich coming from the girl who was talking about marriage just yesterday. I did mean what I said. I think I've learned what _not_ to do in a marriage, even though I'm still apprehensive about the entire thing. And plus, aren't the rates of divorce lower in same-sex marriages?

I raise my eyebrows. "Something wrong?"

"No."

"Good."

Her fingers twitch at her sides, and I grin mischievously. "What are you trying to do to me?"

"Nothing," I say, all innocence.

"Why are you like this?"

My smile widens. "I haven't stopped with my compliments, Berry," I tell her. "Really, I'm just getting started."

"It's going to be a long day, isn't it?"

I take a baby step towards her. "One day, I'm going to kiss you in this corridor," I tell her, as if she doesn't already know. I have a bit of a fantasy about it; just sidling up to her, teasing her and making her laugh as we stand at her locker. She'd give me a look, almost daring me, and I would return the look, accepting. I'd slide my hand over the skin of her cheek until it comes to rest at the back of neck. We'd breathe each other in. I'd lean in, uncaring and _happy_ , and we'd kiss. Right here. For everyone to see. They'd all know that Rachel Berry was mine, and I was hers. For forever.

"I'd like to see that happen," she taunts, a steady smile on her face.

"Just you wait."

She swallows audibly, and my eyes are drawn to her throat. "You should go to homeroom now."

"I should," I agree, but I don't move.

"Quinn."

"Rachel."

"I love you."

And that gets me moving. I practically scramble away, darting down the corridor without looking back at her, absently wondering what her facial expression must be. I suspect she's irritated with my avoidance of the words, and I'm trying to do all I can to make sure she _knows_ how I feel about her without actually having to say the words. There's - there's just this mental block associated with those three words leaving my mouth. They're too dangerous, and I will _never_ survive having her leave me after I've given them to her.

* * *

During a lull in English Lit., I take out my phone and send a secret text to Rachel from under the desk, knowing she's probably holed up in the library enjoying her free period. One of these days, I'll bunk this lesson just to be able to kiss her between the Stacks. It's another little fantasy of mine, you see.

 _Quinn: I just texted to let you know that I, Quinn Fabray, would trust you with my passwords._

She replies almost immediately.

 **Berry: Pay attention.**

 **Berry: And I would trust you with mine. Why are you so stinking cute?**

I want to start an entire conversation with her but I resist the temptation. She'll probably just scold me or something, and I'm supposed to be a diligent student. I definitely should be paying attention.

At lunch, we have an impromptu Cheerios practice, during which Brittany, Santana and I run through the final Regional routine with each one of the cheerleaders in painful detail, forward and in reverse. We can't afford to make _any_ mistakes - mainly because we don't want to be murdered by Coach Sylvester, but also because we want to win. And, well, things _have_ to be perfect. We'll be missing school on Thursday to drive out to the middle of nowhere, where the Regional competition is going to be held, and hopefully return to Lima as a Nationals-bound cheer squad.

Rachel wants to come and support us - me, really - and I do want her to... I just don't know how we're supposed to spin _that_. Unless. I mean, she has plans to recruit other Glee Club members to join her, but I'm not holding my breath. I love her enthusiasm though. Just, _her_. The practice itself goes well, but I haven't eaten lunch and being asked the origin of 'jazz hands' twelve times has put me in a relatively foul mood.

By the time we're supposed to be meeting for Glee, my head is swimming. I'm a little bit exhausted, really, and I'm sporting a pretty nasty headache. The pop quiz that was sprung on us in Chemistry definitely didn't help either. But then, walking into the choir room, there Rachel is, and I just about manage to forget the great big world.

"Hello, you," she says as soon as she spots me. She's standing at the piano, absently shuffling through sheet music, and it's how I've always seen her: perfect and happy with her music. She's simple in that regard, really, which is something I desperately love about her.

"Hi," I say, walking towards her. "What are you doing?"

She shrugs slightly. "I put together three separate, potential setlists," she says; "all of which will probably get shot down by Kurt, Mercedes or Mr Schue. Or _all of them_."

I smile in sympathy. "They might surprise you."

She rolls her eyes.

"I'm serious," I press, standing unnaturally close to her. "Your ideas matter."

She looks at me as if she's never seen me before. "Quinn," she breathes.

"And, we all know you have great taste in - " I continue, but she interrupts me.

"Girls."

I grin stupidly. "That too, yes, but I meant to say music. I'm sure there's something to be found in those setlists and I, for one, can't wait to get started."

"At least _someone_ is on board with my urgency," she mutters. "I mean, we're performing on Saturday, Quinn. _Saturday_. Why is nobody else freaking out about this? As Captain - "

"Co-Captain," I remind her.

"Oh, please," she says with a wave of her hand. "Finn is an opportunist. _I_ am a builder, specialist and innovator."

Really, she makes it so difficult not to kiss her after every sentence she says. "Indeed, you are the very backbone of this here establishment," I tell her.

"As long as you know," she says with an air of finality. "But, seriously, Finn and I haven't really been seeing eye-to-eye lately."

I blink. "Oh?"

"Ever since we found you two in the sick bay after you fainted," she confesses. "It's not as if we're actually _fighting_. We're just _not talking_. I don't know what it is, or even how to explain it."

I take a breath. "Maybe he _knows_ what's going on between us, without actually knowing," I offer. "Like, in the very back of his mind, he knows - "

"He's been replaced by me," she finishes.

"No," I immediately say. "There are no replacements here, okay? Finn will always be important to me," I tell her. "I mean, he's Beth's father, but his and my relationship was nothing like ours is."

"Because I'm a girl?"

"On the surface, no," I say. "But, deep down, maybe it does make all the difference, because I've never felt this way about anyone before. I've never been so open and true and real, and I've never felt so safe and taken care of. All of _that_ is to do with you, Rachel, and who _you_ are."

She regards me for a moment. "Why do you keep saying things that make me want to kiss you?"

"Because I like being kissed," I offer, smiling mischievously and taking a much-needed step back. She's dangerously intoxicating up close. "So, I have something for you," I start, removing a strip of paper from the inside pocket of my Cheerios skirt. "At first, I actually considered writing you something, but then decided against it."

"Why?" she asks, pouting. "I _love_ reading your words."

"I didn't want to embarrass myself," I confess, which is partly a lie. I could probably write something she would appreciate.

"We both know I would have loved it regardless," she assures me, and I smile knowingly.

"But I _found_ something for you," I say. "It's a poem called _the guest_ by Robert Berold, and I found it when Flo and I were going through her poetry book on Saturday." I don't know why, but I feel a little embarrassed as I slide the piece of paper towards her. I rewrote it, because she's a sucker for my handwriting, I've learnt.

.

 _ **the guest**_  
Robert Berold (1948 - )

 _I invited you to my house_  
 _you came in and you opened_  
 _a door into a room I never knew_

 _you were a perfect guest_  
 _bringing only - your self_  
 _leaving only - your radiance_

 _now I awake in bird dawn_  
 _bright with dew and spiderwebs_  
 _to write to you_

.

Rachel is smiling widely when she looks at me again, her eyes shining. "Baby, this is wonderful," she says. "Am I to assume the house is a metaphor for your heart?"

I nod. "Yes, you are."

"Well, you know how much I _love_ metaphors." She kisses me gently, after a quick look around to make sure nobody is approaching the still-empty choir room. "Thank you."

I notice the way she traps her bottom lip between her teeth. "What?" I ask. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's _wrong_ ," she says. "I just... well, _would_ you?"

"Would I what?"

"Write something for me."

I blink, frowning slightly. "Like, a poem?"

"Anything."

"Wait. You want me to write something for you?"

She nods.

I suppose, this is my moment. Rachel says she wants to know me - all of me - and this is my opportunity to let her. I nervously run a hand over my hair, smoothing it down unnecessarily. There isn't a single strand out of place. "Do you think you can come over to my house tonight?"

She looks surprised by my request. "Okay...?"

"I just - I have something I'd like to show you."

"A surprise?"

I swallow nervously. "Uh, yeah, you could say that."

She frowns. "Quinn?"

"Are you _sure_ you want to know all of me?" I ask, needing us both to be sure, because this'll be one Pandora's Box we won't be able to close once it's opened.

"I'm in this," she assures me. "Two feet and whole-body. I want _all of you_."

"And I want to give it to you."

"This is turning sexual."

"That, too."

She rises up as if to kiss me again, but the choir room door suddenly opens and Puck rolls Artie into the room, followed by _everybody else_. I take a step back from Rachel. It'd draw too much attention to spring apart or even look guilty about how close we were standing. Santana does throw us a knowing look when she sees us, though, and I roll my eyes as Rachel blushes.

"Does she know?" Rachel whispers to me.

"Hmm?"

"Santana? Does she know that we..." she trails off.

I drop the volume of my voice to barely a whisper. "Brought each other to orgasm. Four times."

Her face is flaming red now. "Quinn!"

I laugh because I can't help it. "And, no, she doesn't know," I assure her. "Though, she _does_ think we're already having sex, so it probably doesn't matter what I do and don't tell her." I tilt my head to the side. "If there are things you don't want me to tell her; just let me know, okay? This is _our_ relationship, and I'll respect your body just as I expect you to respect mine."

She blinks. "There you go again, saying things that make me what to kiss you," she mutters under her breath.

I shake my head, absently wondering how I ended up this lucky in life and love. Just a few months ago, _everything_ felt hopeless, but now the world is brighter, and I have so much to look forward to. "I wish there was some way for me to explain to you just how happy you make me."

"Well, you _could_ sing a duet with me," she grumbles, and I poke her in the ribs. She squeaks and shoots me a playfully indignant look. "Why are you so mean to me?"

"I told you all you have to do is _ask_ ," I remind her. "But you're almost as stubborn as I am, which means you're going to have to find a way to beat me at _Scrabble_ , or we're going to graduate from this hellhole without our voices having beautifully meshed together for all to see."

She sighs. "Sometimes, you know, you catch me off guard with the number of words you actually _can_ say."

"And rather choose not to," I add. "You could learn a thing or two from me."

This time, _she_ pokes _me_ in the ribs, and I shrink back. "Go and sit down," she says, indignant. "Timeout for Quinn Fabray."

I wink at her but, ultimately, do move to sit down in my usual seat, leaving Rachel's open. Santana and Brittany are engrossed in each other as we all sit and wait for Mr Schuester to grace us with his presence. He's habitually late and, if Rachel wasn't so cute when she quietly fumes, I'd be more irritated by it. But, alas, my girlfriend is stupidly adorable as she huffs and stomps her foot while glancing at the clock on the wall every few minutes.

Mr Schuester arrives twenty minutes after the scheduled time and immediately apologises. I don't hear his excuse, because my eyes are on Rachel. It looks as if it physically hurts her to show restraint and refrain from breaking into Mr Schuester's unnecessary monologue about the theme for Regionals. We've known it's _Inspiration_ for weeks now.

I'd probably just sing songs about Rachel Berry. Ha.

"So, any ideas, guys?" Mr Schuester asks, and _one two three_ : commence with the bloodshed.

I'm fully aware of Rachel's ability to defend herself and her ideas, but I always think about the time she told me she considered giving up on her dream of New York and Broadway... in this very room. She stands by her convictions, and I've always admired the fight in her. But, I suppose, it _can_ be tiring - even to watch.

Santana leans towards me. "Hey, girlfriend-of-the-year, are you planning on doing something to end this fucking bloodbath?"

I swallow, contemplating what I _can_ do. The point is Rachel's song choices _work_. Each setlist is sonically cohesive, and the arrangements work well to show off the strongest voices in our little club. What _is_ the problem, apparently, is that the club believes her arrangement is solely to show off her voice, which, admittedly, it probably is. I mean, she _has_ the best voice - it'd be stupid not to show it off. Even as Kurt, Mercedes and Tina shoot arguments at Rachel, Mr Schuester says nothing. I glance at Finn, who looks apathetic at best.

So, well, I suppose I have to do something... if nobody else will. "Okay," I say, rising to my feet. I slip some commanding HBIC into my tone, and they all fall silent. "Let's just take a moment," I say, refusing to look at Rachel. "In exactly five days, we have to get on a stage and perform three songs. _Three songs_. A solo. An accompanied duet, and a group number. Taking the initiative, Rachel found us doable songs and, while arrangements _might_ be questionable right now, can we at least decide on the songs? Who sings what can be discussed when we _know_ what we're singing because, really, this is all a little ridiculous. Five days, people. As Cheerios, we've known our routine for Regionals for weeks now."

Every eye is on me, but I don't shrink away from them. By now, I'm used to being stared at for whatever reason.

"I agree with Quinn," Finn suddenly says, and I bristle at the nerve of him.

"Way to take the initiative, Finnept," Santana comments. "Where were you five minutes ago?"

Finn just scowls at her.

I clear my throat. "Can we do that?" I ask, but it sure as hell isn't a question. "Let's first decide on songs, and then we can fight it out for parts." I look at Rachel. "Or maybe our _teacher_ might decide to be a little authoritarian, instead of allowing teenagers to make such big decisions based on their egos and raging hormones?" It's a jab at Mr Schuester, enough to jerk him into motion.

"Let's pick songs then," he says, and I resume my seat.

Santana looks at me. "Just when I thought you were growing soft."

"Shut up," I murmur, but I can't help the slight upturn of the sides of my mouth. When I look at Rachel, she's got a look on her face that I've never seen before. It makes me a little uneasy, but there's nothing I can say or do about it right now.

Somehow, by some miracle, we manage to decide on _two_ songs. Rachel is singing the solo - as if it were ever in question - and she does her best not to do a happy dance in front of everyone. We're still looking for a a group number that will showcase everyone's talents, but the accompanied duet has been altered to shine a spotlight on the other females in the group. Santana lets out a _finally_ , and Mercedes just huffs. I really don't understand what her problem is. Nobody sees _me_ complaining.

By the time Mr Schuester dismisses us, we have the necessary sheet music, and a lot to think about. Santana, Brittany and I have another Cheerios practice, but I hang back to talk to Rachel, mainly to address that unrecognisable look I saw in her eyes just after I sat down from my little monologue in her disguised honour. Truthfully, I'm a little nervous about it. I mean, I don't think I did a bad thing, but what if she didn't want me to stand up for her? Even though, technically, to everyone else, I _didn't_. Only three other people even know that I _would_.

So, yes, I'm nervous as I approach her at the piano, her back to me. The choir room is empty of the two of us, and the great big world has shrunk down to this moment right here. "Rachel," I breathe.

She doesn't turn to look at me. "Quinn," she says, and she sounds serious and unassuming. "As much as I appreciate what you did today, I don't need you to defend me," she says, and I hold my breath. "I need you to understand that I don't _need_ it."

"Okay," I murmur.

She turns to face me, and we're standing much too close to each other. "I don't need it, but, God, thank you. Thank you for believing in me enough and _choosing_ to say something because - " she stops, sounding defeated. "It's exhausting."

"It is," I agree.

"So, Quinn Fabray, my hero, thank you."

I smile at her, relieved. "You're very welcome."

Her gaze meets mine, blazing. "And, you know, your standing up for me that way... it's really fucking sexy."

My eyes widen. "Rachel!"

"Yes, baby?"

I shake my head, and then she's kissing me and I'm kissing her and _this is so dangerous_. But her tongue is in my mouth, sliding over mine, and her hands are on my thighs, and I'm stepping forward to push her against the piano. _Jesus_. She's clutching at me. This kiss is desperate and raw, full of unbridled lust and, if I don't pull away now, we're going to end up doing things we _really_ shouldn't be doing at school. She lets out a cute whimper when I manage to extricate myself from her grasp - those fingers were really digging into my skin.

I take an overly large step away from her. "And you say _I'm_ the dangerous one," I mutter good-naturedly as I straighten out my uniform. She's managed to do quite some damage to my Head Cheerio perfection. My hair must be a mess, and I immediately start to fix it. I'm aware of Rachel stepping towards me, and I take another step back. "No," I say. "I have somewhere to be right now."

"But, baby," she pouts.

 _Jesus_. She _knows_ I can't resist her pout. "Later, okay?"

"In _your_ house?"

I grin at her. "We'll definitely give my mother something to think about," I say.

She reaches for my hand and squeezes my fingers. "Later, then," she says. "Just text me when you're done with practice, and I'll come over, okay?"

I just nod, kiss her cheek, and then leave. I feel a little flustered, and Santana's leering when I do finally make it to the gym doesn't help with the heat that's taken permanent residence in my body. Whatever. We have a routine to run through. The first time we perform, after proper stretching and a little pow wow, there are two stumbles. Adrienne trips over her feet and Marissa misses a cue, but it isn't a train smash. To us, at least. Coach Sylvester makes us watch it back twice, noting all the lazy moments. We have to be crisp and sharp and in perfect synchrony. We have to be perfect.

Coach Sylvester makes us to it until it _is_ perfect. We have today, tomorrow and a light training session and final run-throughs on Wednesday before the main event and, admittedly, I'm a little nervous. We've made it to Nationals every year I've been a Cheerio - my sophomore year is the only year they didn't win, and Coach Sylvester _knows_ it's because I was growing a human being - and I sure as hell don't want to graduate as the Head Cheerleader who failed to bring it home. That would just be heartbreaking and I don't think I'd ever live it down.

Well, way to put all that extra pressure on yourself, Quinn Fabray.

I'm tired, but not desperately exhausted, by the time I head to my house. I text Rachel as I pull into the driveway, and she returns that she's just finishing up with her homework, so she'll see me when I'm done with my shower. _And_ she's bringing me dinner. Gosh, she's just so lovely.

I go up to my bedroom as soon as I enter the house, strip and step into the shower. I _would_ have showered at school but I generally just hurry up the rest of the squad and clean up and pack away the equipment. It's better this way. There are - there are scars people aren't supposed to see, and I'd like to keep it that way. I'm just lucky Rachel's mind was clouded with lust the last time I was stripped down to my panties to notice how deep and protruding some of the marks on my back actually are.

When I get out, Rachel still hasn't arrived, which gives me the opportunity to get dressed and prepare for what I have to tell her. It's not that I'm nervous - I doubt she'll be angry or mad or anything - but I _am_ feeling some sense of anxiety. I haven't shown these to anyone, and I sure as hell haven't let anyone in far enough to interact with them. It's a big step for me. I spread them out on my desk, and then go downstairs.

I'm in the kitchen, nibbling on a cucumber stick, when Rachel Berry arrives. She doesn't even pause as she walks straight into my arms, wraps her own around my waist and presses her lips against my neck. She's warm and soft and solid and I don't know how my life ever had any meaning when she wasn't my number one. Well, number two, because _I'm_ apparently my number one. Sure, I am.

"I missed you," Rachel breathes against my skin.

"I saw you a few hours ago," I point out.

"I still missed you."

I kiss her hair. "What did you bring for me?"

She chuckles, pulling away from me. "Oh, I see how it is. All you want is food."

I nod. "Food first, and then I'll eat you."

Her eyes widen, and I grin in mischief. Gosh, she's so easy sometimes. "Can I just say that licking the length of your body is all I've been thinking about _all day_?"

I swallow. "Oh?"

"Oh, Fabray."

"Well, we'd better feed me, so we can use our mouths for other things."

"I think that's the smartest thing you've said all day."

I shrug, and she busies herself with removing the food containers that LeRoy sent with her from a cooler. My mouth is already watering in anticipation, the smells filling my senses. I retrieve a plate from one of the kitchen cupboards and Rachel dishes out a generous amount for me. We sit in the living room while I eat, her side pressed to mine on the couch, and her hands doing all she can to distract me from the wonder that is LeRoy's vegetable lasagna and roasted peppers.

"Remember that thing I mentioned earlier," I say when I've swallowed my last bite of heaven.

She nods, her eyes darting about. "Is it something I should be worried about?"

"No," I assure her. "It's just something about me that not many people know."

"Who does?"

"Santana. Sort of," I tell her; "and some strangers I've never really met face-to-face." At her frown, I elaborate: "Online."

"Oh."

"It's good to get feedback sometimes."

She frowns in confusion.

"It'll all make sense in a little while," I tell her as I rise to my feet and go to the kitchen. I wash my few dishes and put them away before putting the now-cooled food into the fridge. I'll take some to school to eat at lunch. I might even have some for breakfast... though, Coach Sylvester would probably burst an aneurysm if she ever knew how much pasta I've just consumed.

Rachel is sitting perfectly still when I return to the living room. I lift the TV remote, press the power button and plunge us into silence. I take hold of her hand, pull her up and lead the way to my bedroom. She doesn't look as if she's going to be spending the night, so I figure we have only so much time to get through what I have to tell her, as well as the _later_. Though, for all I know, she could run out of here in the next few minutes, but _hey_.

My hands are shaking when we enter my bedroom. "So, I want to show you something," I say, leading the way across my carpet to my desk. On its top, I've laid out the piles of notebooks I've accumulated over the years. They're usually hidden and locked away in a small chest I have at the bottom of my closet. It's too dangerous to have them out in the open with my mother around. And now, with my father doing whatever he's doing with my mother; this house is less safe. For my belongings, and for my being.

Rachel grows quiet when she sees them, sticking out like a sore thumb in my otherwise pristine room.

"Quinn?" she whispers, suddenly unsure.

"Hmm?"

"What are these?" she asks.

I step closer to her, my hands still trembling. "They're notebooks, Rachel," I explain. "I - _write_." I place a hand on the small of her back. "I started writing limericks when I was in sixth grade, just because I was bored, and all that Brangelina stuff was going on. I will forever be Team Aniston, by the way."

She looks at me with the smallest of smiles.

"But, well, it kind of grew from there," I explain. "Limericks became poems, which turned into essays and then short stories. I started writing my first fictional story when I was fourteen, and it took _forever_. I was convinced I would never finish it."

She blinks. "But you did?"

"Barely," I say, smiling at the memory. "I more or less took what I'd already written and injected it into an entirely new story, which I did eventually finish the summer after I turned fifteen. It was... before Beth. It's the last thing I truly wrote that wasn't, well, _mature_."

"What do you mean?"

"I suppose, with the loss of my faith, I started to write about darker things. Pain and hurt and loss and death. It might have been a manifestation of what happened with my father, but then I started to feel hopeless and lost and it translated into my words. The romance of life was gone and, it turns out, people can relate to pain. It's a sad truth of our world."

"It is," she agrees.

"I write to help myself deal with... life. A lot of words have gone into dealing with Beth and the homelessness. I used it to help me come to terms with the end of my relationship with Finn, and the start of my relationship with you. It's seen me through the hefty realisation that I am, in fact, gay and that I will probably end up with a woman. With... you." I swallow. "Lately, I've written a lot about you and how I feel about you, and how the world suddenly makes so much more sense to me, now that you're the brightest shining star in mine." I don't know what more to say, and she looks stumped as well.

"Why have you never told me this before?" she asks, and she's more curious than anything.

I expected this question. "It's - it's such a personal thing to me," I confess. "These are my deepest and darkest thoughts, Rachel, and I've always kept them locked up and hidden, afraid that, if people knew, they would look at me differently. They would - they'd see the real me." I lick my lips. "But I want you to know me. I want you to be the one person in this world who gets to see me, and I realise how fucking terrifying that must sound for you, but this is my way of letting you into all of me the only way I know how."

She regards me for a moment, before she takes a step towards my desk. "Can I?"

I nod, even though all I want to do is grab all my notebooks and hide them away again. It's a struggle to see her reach out, her fingers hesitant as she runs them over the hardbacks. They're numbered and dated. I've kept every one and, knowing her, she'll want to start at the very beginning. I suppose that gives me some time before she gets to the Rachel-oriented ones. I've written _a lot_ about the strength of her arms and her character, and the kindness of her hands and her soul. I've written about her physical beauty and the allure of her heart. I've scribbled lines and lines about the endlessness of her chestnut browns and the eternity of her dazzling smile. I have dedicated pages to the wit of her tongue and the purpose of her fingers. I have loved her on paper for much longer than I have acknowledged there _is_ love.

She'll read it all, and then she'll know. I love her. I am so desperately in love with her that the very essence of myself doesn't exist without her. It's frightening and enlightening, and she does make me want to be better. Every day, without even having to say or do anything, she makes me strive to be better, and I love her even more for it.

Rachel picks up the notebook marked '1' in my little girl handwriting. I was still Lucy back then, a girl with dreams beyond the suffocating pain of my childhood home. Back then, I wrote to escape it all, in search of anything and everything, because it _had_ to be better than a belt-buckle-yielding father and an uncaring, alcoholic mother. I watch her open to the first page, read a few lines, and then close it. She turns to me.

"I _want_ to read them all," she says. "Just, not with you standing right there, watching me. I think we'll both be a little unnerved with the whole process."

I'm inclined to agree with her. "Would you like to take them home?" I offer.

"Maybe just a few at a time," she says with a nod. "I assume you're anxious just having them out in the open like this, so I can only imagine what it'll be like to have your precious words out of sight and out of mind."

I breathe out. "Thank you."

"No, Quinn, thank you," she murmurs, and pecks my cheek. "I didn't even _know_. I mean, you're obviously talented academically, but this is an entirely different side to you, and I find myself more in awe of you every single day."

"Rachel, you don't even know if I'm good at it or not."

"It barely matters to me," she dismisses. "They're _your_ words, and that means the world to me. The fact that you're trusting me enough to share them with me is just amazing, and I promise to treasure them and look after them, and look after _you_ in them."

I move to stand in front of her, suddenly overwhelmed with her kindness and affection. "I know I've been hesitant, and I know it's been like trying to get water out of a rock for you, but I'm ready and willing now. The biggest lesson I've learned this year is that no one is really your friend or truly loves you until they've seen every dark shadow inside of you and _stayed_ ," I say, and her eyes bore into me. "There's more to me - stuff I don't even know how to _say_ \- but you still choose me. Why?"

"Because I love you, Quinn," she says, and I drop my gaze. "No, look at me," she says, and I do. "Listen to me. I choose you, every single day, with all your perfections and all your flaws, because I can't imagine a life without you. Even when we were just tentative friends, and then best friends, just, a life without you already frightened me, and it's even worse now, because we are _together_ , and I want all of you. I told you I want to build something with you. Build a _life,_ of which to be proud and with which to be happy. I mean, choosing you right now, I'm choosing a parenting partner, my eating and travel companion, my primary leisure time and retirement friend, my career therapist, and someone whose day I'll _always_ want to hear about."

I blink. "That sounds intense."

"It is, and I am," she says. "What I feel for you and our future, it _is_ intense and, yes, I'm terrified of it, but I'm right here. I'm right here, and I want to know it all. I want you to be those things for me as much as I want to be those things for you."

We stare at each other for the longest moment, the weight of this moment settling in the air between us, before we're kissing. It's slower than earlier in the choir room. This kiss is deep and meaningful, and it feels as if she's reaching further and further into the depths of my soul with every stroke of her truly talented tongue. Her fingers trace the back of my neck, gentle and possessive, and my hands slide under her top to caress the smooth skin of her back. It's a kiss of promise; a kiss of a mutual future, and a kiss of forever.

Until it just isn't.

Maybe it's the moan she lets out, but a switch flips and we're suddenly - and ineffectively - grabbing for each other. We tug at clothes, and then scrape at skin. Somehow, by some miracle, we manage not to injure ourselves as we move to my bed and I get her underneath me. Her hands are doing things. All sorts of things, touching skin and unclasping my bra. She kisses my collarbone, and then trails her lips further down until they're on my breasts, forcing sounds out of me that I didn't even know I could make. God, I hope my mother isn't home. Did I even lock my bedroom door?

My mouth attacks her neck, and I'm marking her today. I don't even care. I want my teeth on and around her skin, sucking it into my mouth and making sure _she_ knows she's mine. All of her is _mine_. When we're both sufficiently stripped to just our panties, my thigh slides into position between her legs and she gasps at the contact. I let out a guttural moan at the slick heat of her that coats my leg as we slide together in search of total oblivion. My muscles tense, and then her leg is there too, and I wonder how I've gone as long as I have without sex. No, we're waiting. We are waiting.

This helps, and it feels _so good_.

I tell her, breathing the words against her neck, and she rocks her hips harder, driving into me with each and every thrust. Harder and faster and harder and faster. There are strangled moans deep in her throat, and my tongue goes searching for them. It feels as if it's all happening at once, and my heart is pounding in my chest. It's like she's everywhere; her hands on my hips, in my hair, on my breasts, on my back, thighs and ass. Just, everywhere.

It's when she slides her hands into my panties and squeezes my ass in encouragement that I start to see stars. "God, yes," I hiss, and Rachel presses even harder against me. I'm scrambling to hold on... to something, anything. Everything is out of focus, save for Rachel Berry and her hands and her body moving beneath mine, meeting mine in a panicked rhythm. It's everything. _She's_ everything.

"Oh, Quinn," she breathes into my ear, and I can feel myself losing it. There's just so much heat and so much wet and so many words and sounds and breaths and my mind is screaming at me to let go. I push harder because I want her with me when I fall over the edge. I want her with me always.

Rachel goes first, and she carries me with her, our bodies tensing and arching and shuddering as we fall apart all around each other. It's everything and nothing and I'm trembling, my muscles protesting. I just manage not to collapse on her, as I roll to the side and _just breathe_.

It's when my breathing has settled and she's drawing simple patterns on my stomach that I realise what this moment is. It's so much bigger than me, and so much bigger than her. Hell, it's bigger than _us_. She's just accepted everything I've ever told her. Still, after everything, she wants me. Still.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, her voice a whisper in the dark.

I breathe out, spent and so happy. But. "Sometimes, I just go to dark places," I tell her, just as quietly. "It _happens_ , and I'm powerless to it at times. But, I just want to say that I appreciate how you don't try to change me. I appreciate how you just sit beside me, and hold my hand in the dark."

"Waiting for the sun to rise."

I turn my head to look at her perfect face, still flushed, with her hair fanned out over one of my pillows. She's so beautiful; it actually hurts my eyes sometimes. "Because that's an absolute, isn't it?"

She hums.

"It doesn't matter what happens in our lives, or the lives of our friends and family... the sun will rise, with or without us."

She presses a kiss to my bare shoulder. "All I know is my world will be eternally dark if I'm ever without you," she murmurs, and my heart jolts in both excitement and fear.

I swallow nervously, anticipating her next words. Which is why, before she can speak, I roll onto her and swallow the words right from her mouth.

This is how I tell her I love her.


	26. twenty-six

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _be softer with you.  
_ _you are a breathing thing.  
_ _a memory to someone.  
_ _a home to a life._

 _._

When Quinn falls asleep, I stay for a while. I love watching her sleep, all gentle features and peaceful lines. There's no tension in her body when she sleeps like this, pure and trusting in my presence. I don't even know if she locked the bedroom door, but I fantasise about her trusting me enough to protect her. Still, I know I should go, but just looking at her is making that difficult. This moment, whatever it is, is important for us... in our relationship, but also in our lives. She loves me. I know it, but I can't shake the need for her to _tell_ me.

I duck my head and kiss the corner of her mouth, unable to resist. I kiss her cheek and then her eyelid, and I trail my lips over her sculpted eyebrow. She doesn't stir, and she's perfect. Everything about her is _perfect_ , even the things that _aren't_. I run a hand over her mussed hair, loving how smooth it feels under my fingers.

"Quinn," I whisper, but she says nothing. She's asleep. She's definitely asleep. "I love you. I love you so much. Please, just, love me back."

I slide out of bed, search for my clothes and get dressed. I find a _Post-It_ and scribble a short note to her, telling her I've taken the first eight notebooks, she's distractingly beautiful and I love her. I place it on the pillow I just vacated, collect said notebooks, and then leave her bedroom. I hear sounds coming from further down the corridor. Voices. A man's and a woman's. I tense immediately, and panic, rushing back into Quinn's bedroom to shake her awake.

"Baby, you have to get up and lock the door," I tell her, and she grumbles. "Quinn, get up and lock the door." It takes me a few tries but she eventually rolls out of bed and groggily follows me to her bedroom door.

"Don't leave," she whispers, her hands reaching out for me.

"I have to," I whisper back, thwarting her attempts to grab hold of me. "It's getting late. My dads will send a search party."

She nods in agreement with my assessment, kisses my cheek and then lets me leave. I move quickly and quietly through the house, intent on getting out without bumping into either of the Fabray parents. If they happened to arrive after me, then they must know I'm here because of my car. Though, at this point, I'm just assuming the man with Quinn's mother is her father. It could be anyone, for all I know. Still, I'd sleep far better knowing Quinn was safely locked away in her bedroom. I contemplate just taking her with me, but she's half-naked and half-asleep.

When I get home, my dads are still in the living room, one watching TV and the other doing paperwork. I greet them with quick kisses to their cheeks and, if they notice how disheveled I look, they say nothing. I get the feeling they would _know_ if I was having sex, so I don't feel too embarrassed about the idea I was doing _something_ with my girlfriend, alone, in her bedroom. They really give me too much freedom.

Once I'm in my room, I contemplate what to do. After my tryst with Quinn, I think a nice, long shower is in order but I'm hesitant to wash her off me. I still want to smell like her and feel her on my skin. _In_ my veins. I sigh at how absurd that sounds. I go for a shower anyway, just to feel fresh and clean. To surround myself in Quinn's smell, I pull on one of her t-shirts - my closet is her closet, really - and breathe it in. Breathe _her_ in. I brush my teeth and complete my nighttime routine as quickly and calmly as I can. The entire time, I am distinctly aware of certain notebooks perched on my nightstand, just waiting for me.

Admittedly, I feel rather nervous. Quinn and I, we're _serious_. I mean, we're talking in forevers here and, as frightening as it _should_ be, the fact that I've already accepted it is a little more terrifying. It's just what it is. It's not even profound. It's just a truth that has been spoken, and it scares me far less than whatever I'm about to read in Quinn's notebooks. I'm about to lay eyes on my gorgeous, wonderful, talented girlfriend's words. I take my time getting settled in bed with my lampshade on and my heart pounding. My hands are trembling as I reach for the first notebook and open to the first page.

Quinn's handwriting is different. I mean, of course it's evolved from when she was eleven or twelve, but I can barely recognise it. This is Lucy's handwriting, and it's as if she's an entirely different person. I believed it when Quinn told me about the two people she's been in her life, but this is a strange kind of proof that makes me slightly uncomfortable. An entire _other_ person existed before Quinn.

The notebook, predictably, starts with limericks. Short ones about the strangest things. Toasters and clouds, and puppies and candy floss. The words are... innocent. Fantasy almost, and I recognise a child's attempt to find happiness and positivity in the little things. As innocent as her words are, I can feel the pain of them; the hurt of young Lucy: a girl subjected to the weight of collective and perceived expectations... and eventual disappointments. I just want to reach into the pages and put my arms around her, protect her and _love_ her. Somebody had to.

The limericks eventually give way to childish poems about rain and ice hockey. There's still Lucy in the words, strung together in a way that showed immense talent but still required growth. When that all stops, there's a single page of black, vicious lines, haphazardly drawn all over the previously-white canvas. There's no pattern to it and it makes no sense. They're random, and it feels as if they signify the moment Lucy decided to become Quinn. To _accept_ Quinn. Because, the words that follow are equal parts breathtaking and heartbreaking.

Quinn writes about pain in a way that makes me _feel_ it. Even then, so young and raw in her talent, I can feel it. I read her first foray into more mature poetry and I bear witness to how she improves; how practice makes her learn. She explores words and rhyme and colours and rhythm. She attempts to write a sonnet - we're approaching Finn territory, I believe - and I can't help my smile when she declares it a futile endeavour. The structure is too confining, and she likes the freedom to write what's in her heart.

I go through the notebooks at a dangerous speed, reading through her words in an attempt to learn all I can about the girl I've fallen in love with in such a deep and profound way. I cry when I read her thoughts about her pregnancy; about how alone she felt. The tears fall, blinding me slightly, and I'm tempted to get back into my car, drive back to her house and crawl right back into bed with her. Just to hold her. I reckon _I_ need it more than she does at this point in time. I should have seen it. I should have tried to _help_.

Her words about her loss of faith resonate something deep within me. Even though I consider myself half-Jewish - it's a banner to wear, whether you practice the religion or not - I haven't always been particularly religious. I've been curious, yes, and I've learned about several religions in their entireties, possibly in search of what works for me, but I've never carried any sort of _faith_. Higher powers and all that are something foreign to me, but I do still _believe_ \- in something. It's difficult not to, because I'm convinced that someone like Quinn Fabray can't be an accident. Her perfection is a masterpiece, and I'm convinced that God - or whoever - spent just a little extra time making her.

Being privy to her eventual acceptance of the life growing inside of her is eye-opening and enlightening, and it amazes me that a single person - a teenager - could go through so much and not spontaneously combust. I reason the writing must have helped, acting as a way for her to work through all her emotions and feelings, like some form of catharsis. And what's worse is that _nobody_ even knew any of this was happening. She was suffering in a profound way, in complete silence. Always alone.

My heart is aching by the time I read the last word of the eighth notebook. It's already past three o'clock in the morning and I'm still crying. I reach for my phone, knowing Quinn is asleep, and still send a message.

 **Berry: My heart, Quinn. You are my very heart, and it aches for you. You are so strong and you are so talented, and thank you for sharing yourself with me. Thank you for sharing these parts of you, and allowing me inside. Thank you for trusting me... Will you bring more notebooks for me? I find that I crave more. Of you, and of your words. I love you. I love you. I love you.**

I sigh tiredly, close my eyes and dream of a broken girl with tears in her perfect hazel eyes.

* * *

My yawn catches me off guard, and I almost dislocate my jaw. I hear a small giggle behind me, and I whip around to look at the object of my affection and person constantly on my mind.

"Tired?" Quinn asks, arching an eyebrow. "You probably shouldn't stay up so late on a school night."

I rub my right eye of sleep. "Shut up."

She smiles faintly, and I feel my misplaced ire melt into _I'm so happy to see you right now_. "I didn't think you would get through them as quickly as you have," she says.

"Me either," I confess. "But I couldn't stop. And, if I'd taken more than the first eight, I'm pretty sure I would be sleeping against my locker right now."

"When we both know you'd much rather be sleeping against _me_."

"Exactly."

There's a faint blush on her cheeks, and I step forward to hug her _hello, I love you_. "So, I've got the next few in my locker," she tells me as we release each other. "I can give them to you now, if you'd like, because I doubt I'm going to see you until tomorrow."

"Oh?" I ask, pouting slightly.

She looks sorry about it. "We're running through the routine at lunch, and then practice after school is probably going to go on for hours... until Sylvester is happy with it, at least... which will probably never happen, so we'll all just end up dying of exhaustion."

I shake my head. "Sounds lovely."

"Just bear with me, today, tomorrow and Thursday, and then you and Glee will have my full attention."

"Don't burn yourself out," I tell her. "Make sure to consume all your calories and stay hydrated."

"I get hourly texts from LeRoy," she informs me, and I can't help my laugh.

"He worries about you."

"And I love him for it."

I blink. Did she just say she _loves_ my Daddy? Out loud?

Quinn reaches behind me to close my locker, and then she links her arm with mine, intent on leading me to her locker to retrieve the next set of notebooks. There are ten of them this time, and I feel a little exhilarated just at the sight of them. I'll have reading material to tide me over while I wait for my cheerleader girlfriend to perfect her already perfect cheer routine.

That I'm going to watch.

I still haven't revealed to her just what I have planned for Thursday, mainly because there's a strong chance all my plans are going to fall through. I intend to bring it up during Glee tomorrow anyway. We should be supporting each other. I mean, we (sometimes) support the boys when they play football or basketball. And, I mean, the cheerleaders support them all the time, so they should be willing to support them back, right?

I spend the day itching to read Quinn's words, but I refrain from doing so at school. I just keep the notebooks securely locked away in my locker, and patiently wait for the final bell to ring, so I can tuck into the soft core of Quinn Fabray. I head straight home, set the notebooks on my nightstand, and then go for my vocal lesson and my dance classes: ballet and modern. I let the music distract me from other thoughts and worries, and instead focus on the rhythm of my steps and the count of the beats. I end up staying later than usual, and get home just as my Daddy is finishing with cooking dinner. I kiss his cheek and rush upstairs to shower, change and check my phone.

 _Quinn: I sincerely hope you're having a far superior afternoon than I am. We've done this routine fourteen times today, and I think I'll be asleep later and my limbs will still be doing the steps._

 _Quinn: I think I'm seeing sounds, Berry. Something's wrong with me._

 _Quinn: B says to tell you she misses you. S is rolling her eyes, and I'd just like to let you know that all our lives are better because of you and everything you are._

 _Quinn: Also, Q misses you too ;) X_

I smile like the idiot I am.

 **Berry: I hope you're all drinking enough water. I miss B, too! And Santana, sometimes, really. Quinn, baby, I love you and I miss you and I'll call you when you get home. Try not to pass out, PLEASE! You're too pretty to be unconscious.**

I set my phone down and hurry downstairs to eat. I tell my dads about my day and about Quinn and I absently discuss the trip to New York. Even though Quinn hasn't explicitly said 'yes' to coming with us, it's widely accepted that she _is_ , whether she feels she's imposing or not. Which she isn't. I'm excited about it, because I _really_ want to be able to hold her hand in the street and walk around without looking over my shoulder or tempering my reactions to the fact she's alive and right beside me. Spring break can't get here fast enough, really.

By the time I make it to bed, it's both early and late, and there's no reply from Quinn. Based on my limited sleep from the previous night, I _should_ be tired, but all I want to do is read, which is what I do. I tell myself I can finish my homework in the morning or during my free period. Right now, I'm sitting in Quinn's brain and feeling the way she dealt with learning to love Beth, and then choosing to give her to someone else to take care of. There are tear stains on the pages, which just makes _me_ cry. It can't have been easy for her to decide, particularly with the prospect of Finn's support and the support of his family but, ultimately, she made the correct decision for all of them at the time.

She's written the words almost a hundred times: _I did the right thing_. I imagine she carries regrets, but the adoption was open and she gets pictures and phone calls on occasion. Quinn and Finn will always be involved in Beth's life, which means that Finn will always be in Quinn's life, which means that he will always be in mine, because I will always be in Quinn's. _Jesus_. Isn't that a match made in heaven?

There's a poem, entitled _miss you_ that I know is about Beth, and I read it twice because I wonder where Quinn has hidden all of this emotion; all of this feeling. All that time, I remember her being nothing but completely stoic, terribly put together and painfully passive. It's so difficult to think that she was holding this all inside; that she thought she _had_ to. She's alluded to thinking nobody would understand; that nobody truly _cared_ , and it breaks my heart every time because I did. I just didn't show it.

.

 ** _miss you_**

 _in my free time, i do the unthinkable._  
 _i do what I know i shouldn't.  
_ _it's just too easy, and yet it still hurts  
_ _yes, it hurts to miss you._

 _i think about the gentleness of your presence,_  
 _and the ease with which you make life worth it._  
 _for you; i am living to be better._  
 _i miss that feeling of being home, with you._

 _i remember your stillness and your movement._  
 _your eyes glinted with quiet joy and happiness -_  
 _all of which will, now and forever, have_  
 _nothing to do with me._

 _i feel the need to right myself in your eyes,_  
 _again, I'm at a loss for words to say to you._  
 _i've made mistakes and wrong choices, but_  
 _i am comforted by your pure heart._

 _they say a very small degree of hope is_  
 _sufficient to cause the birth of love. i still wonder_  
 _about it. All this hope in my heart – everything i've known._  
 _it's all self-inflicted; all the pain of your forgetting._

 _even if you're gone now, pushed away for your own_  
 _protection; i still know we've always got tomorrow.  
_ _now, all i can do is the unthinkable; what i shouldn't:  
_ _it still hurts to miss you._

.

Quinn misses Beth in a way that makes me think about my own mother. Sure, we talk at least once a month, but I've never really spoken to Quinn about it, the same way she's never truly discussed Beth with me. It's just never come up for me because Shelby doesn't sit on my brain the same way Beth sits on Quinn's. It makes me wonder what Shelby went through in the beginning; how she dealt with my adoption. I wonder if she struggled as much as Quinn continually does, with guilt and sorrow and regret. I wonder if she questions her decisions as much as Quinn does.

Quinn makes it seem as if she would jump at the opportunity to _know_ Beth, which is something Shelby clearly and vehemently resisted. For years. _And_ to my face. I imagine she has valid reasons and, though I don't understand them, I accept that there _are_ reasons... which is also something I've learned from Quinn. She just carries this faith and this worldly understanding with her that almost makes it seem impossible not to believe in _something_. In _her_ , mostly, but she'd probably just blush and call me ridiculous if I were ever to tell her that _she_ inspires _me_.

There's an endless number of pieces about Beth and about trying to get back to her old life... and then realising she doesn't want it anymore. There are poems about her parents and the end of their marriage. There are paragraphs and paragraphs about rediscovering herself after her fall from grace. It's what she calls it at first, before she accepts that the person she was before Beth had _no_ grace. And she called herself a good Christian. Good Christians didn't hurt other people... which was how she returned to her faith and found a sense of peace that encapsulates her every Sunday, to carry with her through the entire week.

There are words, and then there are _words_. These are Quinn's words. Her soul is damaged but so pure, and I love everything about her. I won't ever stop. When I finally fall asleep, I dream of Quinn. I dream of her gentleness and her cruelty, and I dream of pained sobs and shining eyes.

I dream of a girl who has stars in her eyes, but seems to be lost in space, searching for the light in the darkness.

* * *

"Come here."

Quinn crosses the living room in slow motion, her facial expression twisted into a grimace that tells me her body is hurting. She was all types of tense in Glee today, and she looks even more tense now. Her shower clearly didn't help _that much_ , though she does look and smell fresh and clean and good enough to taste.

"How many times did you run through the routine today?" I ask.

"Twelve," she grumbles, as she collapses on the couch beside me, cringing at the impact on her sore muscles. I immediately crawl towards her, push her onto her back and lie on top of her, revelling in the sound of her measured groan. She's so warm and soft, and I just want to be near her. Or, on top of her.

"Only twelve?" I ask, grinning at her.

"Shut up."

"Do you want me to give you a massage?"

Her eyebrows rise. "Would you?" I start to move my hands, but she stills them. "And, I mean, an actual massage, Berry," she says. "Don't get frisky."

I pout. "Can I at least get a kiss?"

"Little star, you know you can kiss me whenever you want," she murmurs, so I do. Kiss her, I mean. I settle properly on top of her, feeling her body relax into the couch cushions, and kiss her slowly, purposefully. She has to know what her written words have done to me; what _she_ has done to me. My hands absently massage her biceps, and then her tight shoulders, hearing her moan with every stroke of my tongue and knead of my hands. I feel as if I haven't spent time with her in forever.

Time passes slowly, and we lose each other in touches and sounds, which is probably why we barely hear the front door open. It's the voices that alert us, and we spring apart, and then come back together to sit side-by-side to make it _look_ like we haven't been doing anything worth taking note of. I spot my Dad first, and he looks solemn.

"Dad?" I question, sitting up in concern.

"Hi, Sweetheart," he says quietly. "Look who we found loitering outside."

I blink in confusion, and then spy my Daddy walking in with Kurt. Kurt, who looks -

"Kurt?" I suddenly ask, taking in the devastation on his face. "What's wrong? Oh, my God. What happened?" At the sound of my questions, he bursts out crying, and I automatically spring to my feet and move towards him. "Kurt?" I question, wrapping my arms around him. "What's wrong? Is it Blaine? Your father? Gosh, what happened?"

Kurt blubbers in my arms, and I look over my shoulder at Quinn. She looks as lost as I feel, and I'm sufficiently unnerved. I mean, he didn't even raise his eyebrows at the fact that Quinn and I were practically _cuddling_ on my couch.

"Kurt?" I try again. "Honey, what's wrong?"

He pulls back slightly, and I wipe at his cheeks, meeting his gaze. "It's - it's Dave," he whispers, and I frown. Quinn's expression matches mine. Who is Dave?

"Dave?" I question, prompting him to elaborate.

"Karofsky," he clarifies through his tears, and I haven't heard that name in months. I'm pretty sure he left the school. I mean, he _stopped_ the slushy facials around the time Quinn returned to Head Cheerio after Beth, and enacted her tremendous power. But -

"What about Karofsky?" I ask, suddenly wary of what he's about to tell us.

Kurt sniffs. "He - he tried to kill himself."

I gasp, and Quinn's eyes widen. "Oh, my God," I say. "Is he okay? What? What happened? Why? I don't - "

Kurt shakes his head. "They found out," he says.

I'm so confused. "What?"

"At his new school," he says; "they found out."

"They found out what? Kurt, what did they find out?"

Kurt blinks, his eyes pooling with more tears. "That he's gay."

* * *

Quinn makes us tea, and my dads go upstairs to their bedroom. I realise Quinn needs to do something to stop her mind from focusing on what Kurt's just told us, and I'm certain this entire situation doesn't help with my dads' worries about Quinn and me out there in the real world. People can be cruel and, in this world, they are determined to _break you_. I've seen enough of that regarding my dads and my talent, and goodness only knows what Quinn has seen. Through her words, I'm still learning.

Kurt and I settle on the couch, and Quinn sits in an armchair, her body tense. All my hard work to soothe her, just gone. The two of us are listening to Kurt say words, telling us about the true reasons behind Karofsky's bullying of him. He tells us about the first time Karofsky kissed him, and how he's been keeping the secret of his tormenter for _months_. Quinn and I share a significant look at the sound of that, but neither of us says anything. Kurt tells us that Karofsky decided to move schools, in the hope that he could reinvent himself as someone who wasn't so full of hate. For himself, and for others.

Quinn shifts in her seat, and I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around her.

Kurt explains how Karofsky contacted him, asking for advice and attempting to befriend him. "It didn't take very long for me to realise he wanted to be more than my friend," he says, shaking his head. "It's my fault they found out. I - I rejected him, and - " his voice catches in a sob, and I wrap my arms around _him_ instead, trying to console him.

"It's not your fault," I tell him. "You know it. I know it. And Karofsky knows it."

"But, if I'd been more discreet, maybe none of this would have happened," he presses.

"No," I say. "Kurt, what happens is always meant to happen." I say this and look at Quinn, channelling her in a way that makes me feel closer to _her_ and _her faith_. I think _she's_ where I find _my_ strength and, if that isn't profound, then I don't know what is. "Karofsky will get through this. All of us, we're going to help him and support him, okay? We'll go visit him tomorrow, if that's allowed, and we'll make sure he knows he's not alone, okay?"

He just nods against me, and my arms tighten around him. I look at Quinn over his shoulder, and her eyes are on my face. They're telling me something: her fears and her hopes. This - all of this - is important, in our lives right now, and in our futures. Just, why does it have to be this hard? I feel as if we haven't had a blissful and easy day in forever, and all I want to do is sit quietly in a corner, Quinn in my arms, and just _be_.

"Rachel?"

I blink once, tearing my eyes away from Quinn. "Yes, Kurt?"

He takes a calming breath. "I know you spent a lot of time working on the setlist for Regionals, but I was wondering if we could possibly sing something related to..." he trails off. "No, it's stupid."

"It's not stupid," Quinn says, surprising us both by speaking. She's been silent this entire time. "Kurt, you're right. We should sing songs in support of Karofsky, and any other kids struggling with similar thoughts or problems."

"Being gay is not a _problem_!" he suddenly snaps, harshly, and Quinn barely recoils, having probably expected some kind of reaction. I assume she's dealt with worse.

"No, it's not," she says, as calm as ever, even though I'm bristling at how he's speaking to her. "But, struggling with it _is_."

"And how would you know?" he shoots back and, for a terrifying moment, I think she's going to give us away. I don't think I would be against it, but I think it's something we should probably discuss first. Hell, we're still waiting on having that coffee with Blaine to talk... about... things.

Quinn leans forward, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I see it," she says. "I've watching _you_ struggle, and I've seen it take its toll on Santana in a way she'll never admit to. But you are all so strong, and you've all survived, with the help of your friends and family. Not everyone has that kind of support, and I think it's a good idea to remind those who _are_ struggling that they're not alone and they will emerge stronger than before, because being true to who you are is always going to be worth it."

I look at Quinn. She's saying too many words, and my heart is thundering in my chest. Does she - is this her way of telling me that -

Kurt sighs heavily. "I'm sorry, Quinn," he says lowly. "I didn't mean to - "

She interrupts him. "It's okay," she says, shaking her head. "Today has been emotional, and I won't begrudge you the way you react to it. This could have been any one of us, and I hate the idea of anyone thinking themselves so alone that they actually resort to - " she stops suddenly, and presses her lips into a thin line. Her eyes meet mine in mild panic, and I hear what she's not saying.

This thing that Karofsky attempted; Quinn has thought about it. Or, Lucy has.

But it's a sin.

I swallow bile. Is the only reason my girlfriend is currently sitting here, alive and breathing, because she's too scared of ending up in Hell, to take her own life? My breathing changes quite dramatically - increasing exponentially - and Kurt looks at me curiously. Quinn. Oh, Quinn. I want to be near her. I need to touch her and feel the solidity of her. I need to feel that she's still here, with me.

"Rachel, are you okay?" Kurt asks, his bloodshot eyes widening slightly.

I can't look away from Quinn, but she doesn't move. She's frozen in place, and the longest moment passes between us and around us. She knows I know, and I don't even know what to say or do. "Quinn," I say, and my voice sounds strangled in my throat.

Kurt looks between us. "What's wrong? What's going on?"

Quinn takes a measured breath and clears her throat, somehow managing to recover. "Kurt, do you have any ideas for songs we could possibly sing?" she asks. "I'd suggest you get them out now because it looks like Rachel's already coming up with a setlist _right now_. Including choreography."

Kurt glances between us again. "Is that what's happening right now?"

I manage to pull it together enough to nod my head and drop my gaze. Maybe if I'm not looking at Quinn, we can get through Kurt's visit without my totally giving us away, because I just realised that my girlfriend might be broken beyond repair; that I'll never be able to fix her.

Quinn handles the conversation then, keeping Kurt distracted while I try to wrap my head around what I think I've always known about her, but never allowed myself to acknowledge properly. I'm convinced that majority of the world's population has thought about suicide; maybe muttered it under his or her breath or entertained the idea in order to get out of having to do something they didn't want to, but this is serious. Quinn considered it; I'm certain of it. I absently wonder if she's written about it at all, or if it's all laced into every word of pain she's ever written.

Really, our lives were so much simpler before Valentine's Day. How do we get back to that? How do I get back to worrying over whether or not Quinn is going to find my stupid little heart Valentine? I almost scoff at the fact I though life was difficult _before_.

Slowly, I come back to myself, and the three of us decide on three songs to show solidarity and strength through adversity. Quinn works up most of the choreography, quietly consulting with Brittany over the phone a few times. Kurt and I do the vocal arrangements, seamlessly assigning singers to the various parts. He doesn't even fight me, which I really appreciate. I don't think I have much fight in me anyway, and it looks as if he doesn't either.

When we're semi-satisfied, I send emails to the entire Glee Club and Mr Schuester. There's no grumbling and nobody complains. It doesn't matter that David Karofsky has humiliated every single one of us at one point; this isn't wished on anybody, and we're nothing if not all-inclusive and supportive of our fellow students in need. We have new songs to learn, and I worry about the strain this puts on Quinn, Santana and Brittany, but Quinn assures me it'll be fine. They'll just sleep for days after we win on Saturday, apparently.

When Kurt leaves, he's much calmer. I _think_ we've managed to convince him none of this is his fault, but I text Blaine anyway, just letting him know he should be wary of Kurt's emotional state. I try not to read too much into the fact that Kurt ended up _here_ and not at Blaine's in the first place because, well, I have my own significant other to take care of now. Quinn remains in her armchair as I lock up and switch off the downstairs lights in preparation for turning in for the night. Quinn is staying. I don't even care if it's a Wednesday night. She's staying, with me, in my arms.

I assume my dads are asleep when I lead Quinn up the stairs and into my bedroom. We're quiet as we both perform our nightly routines, taking turns in the bathroom and preparing for the following day. Quinn is leaving from McKinley at eight o'clock, and the preliminary rounds start at ten o'clock. If they make it to the second and final round, they should perform again in the afternoon, probably around three o'clock, which is a time I could possibly make if I skipped my last lesson - or last _two_ lessons. She'd probably keel over if she knew I was considering bunking _for her_.

We crawl into bed at the same time, settling in beside each other, our arms seeking contact as if it's a default setting. I close my eyes and breathe her in, trying and failing to get my heart rate to slow or the trembling in my fingers to stop. Quinn's arms tighten around me, and I burrow into her that bit more. I've always harboured this fantasy that we could occupy the same space, but even I know physics won't allow it. A girl can dream, though.

"Rachel," she whispers, her lips pressed to my hairline.

I hum in response.

"They can never know," she says.

I breathe out. I don't want to agree with her. I want us to be able to make decisions about _our_ lives without having to consider anyone else. But this is Lima, Ohio, and we're not in control here. The narrative will never be our own. She's Quinn Fabray, daughter of two socialites and upstanding members of the church and community, and I'm Rachel Berry, the daughter of two gay men. It doesn't matter what those men have accomplished. Society can't look past the person they've both chosen to love. Quinn and I, we're not safe here, which is why I say what I do.

"They can never know," I echo.

"I'm sorry," she says, and she sounds as if she desperately means it. "I am so sorry, Rachel."

"Me, too."

It isn't until she falls asleep that I feel the weight of her apology fall onto my chest, making it difficult to breathe. Why is she apologising? Why am _I_ apologising? We shouldn't have to apologise for the person we're choosing to be with; choosing to love. We _shouldn't_ , and I hate that this is what we've been forced into: apologising for being together and keeping our relationship hidden in the shadows. It makes me so _angry_ , and I feel so defeated at the fact that it's all necessary. We _have_ to hide because the consequences of our relationship are too high, for all parties involved.

It doesn't make me hate it any less.

I realise rather quickly that I can't get to sleep, so I slowly remove myself from her embrace, press a kiss to her forehead, and get out of bed. I move to sit down at my desk and lean back in my chair. We haven't talked about _anything_. We've barely discussed Karofsky or his suicide attempt or _her_ thoughts on the matter. She's just always seemed so strong and put together, and I wonder just what that family of hers has to have done to _break_ her this way. We haven't talked about the effect seeing her father has had on her, and we haven't even come close to discussing the bank or the lawyer.

After.

We'll talk about it after Regionals. I reach for a random notebook, just because I want to read her words. I want to learn and understand more about her. Just, anything. It's a random passage, marked as a ' _failed_ _experiment?'_ in the top corner. I read it anyway.

.

 _ **thief**_

 _Time waits for nobody. I am purely independent._

 _Despite the complaints, curses and prayers, I exist only for myself. Even though I am used and abused, I continue to endure for those of flesh, who are forever ungrateful. Time has complete control. I am not afraid to use it. I have survived the prodding, the begging and the whining for so long. And yet I continue to venture on as if I am needed; as if I am liked or valued; as if I have an influence on how people live, and as if I have control over what is perceived as more important._

 _Time pauses for nothing. I am limitless._

 _"Time is a thief with a loaded gun; the sky runs by while the days are gone; the night falls prey to another sun." I have been called the servant of death for, when the 'time' comes, life reaches its pitiful end. Human beings question my work as if they could understand its complexity. Time is unpredictable. I am the ruler of growth. I allow for blooms to bear witness to the day and allow lovers the cover of night. Time governs all. I am the conductor of the circling seasons, bringing forth the chills of Fall; the freeze of Winter; the blaze of Summer and the buds of glorious Spring._

 _Time is the initiator. I am ageless._

 _"In reality, killing time is only the name of another of the multifarious ways by which Time kills us." I am apostrophised. I am addressed as if I am human, in order to be condemned. Again, I am compared to death. As insulting as the malicious remark could be; I realise that earth-inhabitants strive upon contradictions. Time is responsible for death. I am not God. If I were God, I would not be addressed in such a way. I would be respected, honoured, even admired, and definitely not worshipped or idolized. Time is, rather, the devil's companion. I am not dedicated. I do not exist for the purpose of opposing the Heavenly Being who has placed me in my responsibility._

 _Time is a mastermind. I am perennial._

 _"Time is what prevents everything from happening at once." I have been criticised since I came into existence: the very beginning. I have been told I am the cause of unnecessary stress, for there is never enough of me in supply. Conversely, during those treacherous lessons and meetings; I am called upon to accelerate. Time works alone. I am used as a manmade constraint. I have yet to be defined. Oh, how these beings have tried and tried? I have never understood how their minds function, and I do not foresee that ever occurring. We are the same. For, like them, I too am seeking a truth._

 _Time is not human. I am everlasting._

 _"Clocks slay time… time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life." I find it awfully putrid that I am believed to be governed by an object. I am responsible for my own righteousness. Time exists to serve. I am a cliché. I can be 'set aside.' Or, my favourite: 'time flies when you're having fun.' As if I am known. As if I can be understood. As if I am feasible or definite. It is as if I am tangible. I am not seen, invisible to the naked eye._

 _Time is undefined. I am eternal._

 _Time waits for nobody. I am purely independent. The light and the darkness bow at my command. The winds and rays bend at my every peril. I exist with the grace of fulfilling the work bestowed upon me. I am inherent to the masterfully majestic happenings of the world unknown._

 _Time is not to be slayed._

 _I am immortal._

.

"Rachel?"

I look up to spy Quinn sitting up in bed and looking at me with bleary eyes. Her hair is a blonde mess, and she looks all kinds of cute as she rubs her right eyes of sleep. "Hey," I breathe, unable to stop myself from smiling at her in the dim light.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice thick with sleep.

"Nothing," I say, setting the notebook down and trying not to look guilty about choosing to read over being wrapped in the comfort of her arms.

She shifts to lie back down. "Come back to bed," she murmurs sleepily.

Without preamble, I rise to my feet and pad across the carpet, slip into the safety of her arms and do my best not to cry.

I fail.

* * *

"Let's go, McKinley!" I scream, bouncing up and down in the bleachers. "Whoo! Come on, McKinley!"

Blaine laughs at my antics, but he's also on his feet, clapping his hands and whistling. We're the only two from Glee who decided to come watch the cheerleading squad. I really laid into the football players because, really, how could they _not_ come and support the cheerleaders who support them during all their losses? I was especially disappointed in Finn, but he just cited that they all had new songs to learn. 'Maybe another time.' I wanted to strangle him.

Kurt declined in favour of... wallowing about Karofsky, which is something Blaine and I have actively _not_ discussed. I can feel a bit of tension about the subject, and I'm choosing not to get involved. Though, we are scheduled to visit Karofsky when Blaine, the Cheerios and I return to Lima.

"Isn't it just weird to cheer for cheerleaders?" Blaine asks, and I let out a laugh as my eyes settle on Quinn. Of course, the Cheerios progressed to the second round of the competition, and now they're performing again. This one is for the win. They're just moving into position on the blue mats in front of us, and my heart is beating wildly in my chest in anticipation of what's to come.

"I should warn you, Blaine," I say; "I may dig my nails into your skin when Quinn is in the air."

"That's okay," he assures me. "It can't be easy watching her do all these dangerous tricks. Even _I_ get a little queasy watching them assemble the pyramid, and she isn't even my girlfriend."

I shake my head. " _And_ she has this nasty little habit of injuring herself," I add. "Honestly, it's as if she _likes_ being in pain, the little menace that - " I stop suddenly, my voice catching. Because, well, there it is, isn't it? I replay the words in my head, blink a few times, and then look at Quinn. _Jesus_. I am _so_ not ready for everything that comes with Quinn Fabray.

"They're starting," Blaine says, his hand gripping my forearm. We sit back down as the Cheerios grow still and the crowd falls silent. There's a beat of absolute quiet, and then the music is blaring. I don't recognise the song, but that's to be expected when it comes to Quinn, who was responsible for choosing the accompanying setlist. There's music in that head of hers I couldn't even dream up. It's jammy, though, and then they're dancing and moving and flipping and swinging legs and arms and -

And then they're flying, and my nails dig into Blaine's arm. He grimaces, but says nothing. Quinn's smile is mega-watt, and my heart is beating in my throat. I mean, the routine is flawless; it's electric and so synchronised that I'm actually jealous of how they all move together. Glee could _never_ be like this. We're not all coordinated enough, and people generally don't care enough.

"They're amazing," Blaine murmurs when Quinn does a split in the air. A sky split, as she calls it. Oh. I didn't know she was that flexible. I flush at the thought, and then gasp when she does a turn in the pike position. Just what is she trying to do to me?

Thankfully, there's no pyramid involved in this routine, but there is a complicated stunt involving Quinn, Santana, Brittany and another cheerleader that makes me stop breathing, because they're doing backflips, forward flips, double flips, sliding under each other and flying through arms and _ohmygod_. Honestly, my blood is pumping when the routine ends with a struck pose and jazz hands. Their smiles are huge, and everyone just knows they've won. It isn't even a competition anymore, really.

Which is why, when they do announce William McKinley High School as the Regional winners, I'm not even surprised. Proud beyond words, but not surprised. My girlfriend is a born leader - ruthless as she may sometimes be - and she's built to be a winner. And she's mine.

The Cheerios are still celebrating when Blaine and I brave approaching them to tell them our congratulations. It'll be innocent, just fellow Glee Club members wishing their teammates well. It'll be fine. I spy a few recruiters hovering nearby, and I imagine they're just _waiting_ to approach the celebrating girls. But, for now, they're being respectful and letting them enjoy this moment; a moment I selfishly want to share with my girlfriend.

But.

"I love you, guys," Quinn suddenly yells, her smile wide and infectious and, instead of revelling in how happy she looks, my world draws to a sudden and painful halt at the sound of her words. _I love you_. She's said them so easily, drawing Santana and Brittany into a tight hug that makes one of them squirm and the other squeal in delight. "I'm so happy, and I just love you both so much," she practically sings into Santana's ear.

"Yeah, yeah, we love you, too, Q," Santana says, rolling her eyes.

She laughs gloriously, and her eyes light up when she spots my approach... that has stopped. Her arm is still draped over Santana's shoulders, her posture loose and open, and I get a wink out of my blonde.

I blink.

Because, really, I can't tell who I hate a little bit more right now: me or her.


	27. twenty-seven

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _i know, she is the love you are,  
_ _the land you are made of,  
_ _and she is haemorrhaging.  
_ _war is eating her heart._

 _._

There's no rest between our Cheerios' Regionals' win and rehearsals for Glee. Rachel is a girl on a mission, and I'm just surprised she allows us to get any food into our systems between our return from Regionals, our visit to Karofsky that was ultimately denied owing to his ongoing 72-hour suicide watch, and eventually holing up in the school's auditorium to run over lyrics and steps for our new songs. It's... strange. Rachel wasn't this wound up this morning, and I wonder what happened to put her so on edge, because she's extremely short with everyone - particularly me. It could be that she's feeling added pressure, seeing that the Cheerios just won their Regionals.

Really, it could be anything.

Though, if I'm being honest, there's something about the entire situation that makes me feel uneasy. I can't tell if _I've_ done something to upset her, because she's not really _looking_ at me. I mean, of course she's looking at me, but she's doing her best not to _see_ me. I run through all the possibilities, drawing on my - seriously limited - experience of similar situations. We've never really _fought_. Not since we started dating, at least, and definitely not in a big way. We're both a little more stubborn about it now, reserved and quiet, as if we're afraid the other is going to end up running if we mention our grievances.

If it was important enough, I'm sure Rachel would tell me, which is the only reason I relegate it to the back of my mind, thinking that she's probably stressed about Regionals. I can't blame her for that - even _I'm_ stressed and I'm not even Co-Captain of this uncoordinated band of misfits. She occasionally steps to the side to compose herself and, as much as I want to move towards her and possibly comfort her, I don't. I _could_ go as just her friend, but I get the impression I'm responsible for her foul mood the longer the night goes on. I don't know what it is, but I have this feeling I said or did something, and she just doesn't want me anywhere near her.

It's when she viciously snaps at Finn for his lack of coordination that Mr Schuester calls for a break and drags Rachel aside to talk to her, leaving _me_ confused and everyone else a little bit pissed off. Since we've been friends, this side of her has tempered slightly. She's learned patience with us because she's come to accept that we're not all as graceful or as talented or as dedicated to Glee Club as she is, so I really don't know where all of this is coming from. And I _try_ , believe me, to think back on the day in its entirety. She sent me texts all day, checking in on my hydration and how the competition was going. And then she and Blaine arrived, and I was _so happy_ to see her. Nothing was off then, but now... I don't even know.

I move to the side to retrieve a bottle of water from my duffel bag and manage to down half of it before Santana sidles up to me, a slight frown on her face. "Okay, what's up with Berry?"

"I don't know," I confess, because I _really_ don't know. "She was _fine_ earlier."

"Before the visit to Karofsky?"

I blink. Is that it? "I - " I start. "I think it started before that. It's - it's to do with _me_."

"What did you do?"

"I don't know," I admit, and it seems as if I'm saying that a lot today.

Unless...

Well.

Unless she read something in my notebooks that's changed her opinion of me, and she doesn't know how to tell me. Oh, God. I don't even know what I would do if that _were_ the case. But, really, I don't know where she even found the time to read anything in the whirlwind since the Regionals' announcement just this afternoon, but it's the only thing that makes remotely any sense right now. If it truly is to do with me, then it's the only reason, really. What else could it be? I glance over my shoulder at Rachel, who's now standing alone after her chat with Mr Schuester. I can't help thinking she looks a little lost, forlorn and conflicted in a way I haven't seen since _before_.

"You should."

I turn to Santana. "Hmm?"

"You _should_ talk to her," she says. "Because, I swear, girlfriend or not, Fabray; I will strangle a bitch if she continues to yell at us for no good reason. Do _you_ want to be responsible for what happens to the midget?"

I bristle slightly but, ultimately, make my way across the stage with the intention of trying to smooth things over. If not for myself, then for the rest of Glee. I'm cautious with my approach, and I can practically feel every eye on me. It's a little funny, really, that _I'm_ considered to be entering the lion's den right now. I mean, have they met me? Either way, I come to a stop just a foot away from my brunette, and she glances up at me, offering me a tight smile.

"If you've come to lecture me, Mr Schue already beat you to it," she says, her voice strained in a way I haven't heard in a long time. Since before we were ever truly acquaintances, really. I don't recognise it or what it could possibly mean.

"I haven't come to lecture you," I say, because I really haven't. "I was thinking, rather, what could I do to help?"

She blinks. "Nothing," she mumbles.

"Rachel," I breathe. "What's wrong?"

"What makes you think something is wrong?"

I just about resist the urge to roll my eyes. Seriously? "Call it fluke," I say, stepping closer to her. We _both_ know I know her well enough to realise something is _off_. "Tell me what's wrong."

"There is nothing _wrong_ ," she says tensely.

"That's bullshit, and we both know it," I say, losing patience. "Just tell me."

She glares at me. "What if I don't _want_ to tell you? I don't _have_ to tell you everything, Quinn."

I step back, surprised. "Okay..." I mumble. "What did I do?"

"What?"

"You're obviously mad at me, so tell me what I did, and then I can fix it."

"Don't you think you've done enough?" she snaps, and I involuntarily flinch. She immediately looks apologetic, but she doesn't apologise. What is happening right now? "This isn't about you, or even about us," she eventually says, and it's a lie if I've ever heard one. We - we don't lie to each other. Not about things like this.

I shake my head. "If you don't want to talk about it right now, then just tell me," I say, pointedly. "There's no need to lie to me. Just, whatever problem you have with me right now, can you stop taking it out on the Glee Club? It's already been a long and tiring day without you adding to it."

She glares at me, her eyes dark. There's... hurt in her eyes, and it catches me off guard. _Jesus_. What did I end up doing that I'm entirely not aware of? "Fine," she huffs, lifting her nose. She moves past me and addresses the still-sour group. She stands before them, hands clasped in front of her. "It has been brought to my attention that I haven't been particularly fair to you all tonight," she says, and I breathe a sigh of relief... that very quickly turns into a gasp of surprise. "I would apologise but it's not my fault you're all so incompetent. We have only _two_ days to get this all done, and forgive me if all I want to do is help you all improve because, as infuriating as it all is, I do need at least eleven of you to win."

There's silence. Just, so much silence. There's disbelief and wide eyes and _what the hell_?

She's not done, apparently. "It seems my presence here is irking some," she says, and I get shot a particularly heated glare. "So, I'll take my leave now. I'd thank you all to keep practicing - possibly through the night, as some of you desperately need - and we will return to full practice tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, you will have reached a respectable level of preparedness. At least enough to keep up with me." She bounces slightly, and then turns, fetches her bags and leaves the auditorium in stunned silence.

As soon as Rachel has disappeared from view and the door slams shut, everyone turns to look at me as if _I_ know what's going on, but I have just as many answers as they do. Less, probably, because I definitely have more questions.

"Jesus, Q, what did you say to the midget?" Santana asks.

I blink. "I _literally_ just asked what was wrong."

"Must be something big," Kurt muses, and several people nod their heads in agreement.

I look to Blaine, hoping he has answers. He's the one who spent the afternoon with her; maybe she said something to him, but all he does is shrug. He's as lost as I am; as we all are. I think maybe I should go after her and try to iron this all out, but my feet don't move. I'm also running on adrenalin right now.

And, when Mr Schuester does finally let us go for the night, I don't bother to go to the Berry home. There's no point. She _clearly_ doesn't want to see me, and I'm in no mood to fight with her. I mean, I think we're fighting. Silent fighting. Cold War vibes.

When I get to my house, I shower, crawl into bed, send her a text that receives no reply and let sleep claim me.

* * *

Friday isn't any better. Even though I'd really love to enjoy the fact we don't have early morning Cheerios practice, the day itself offers no more clarity, and Rachel is even more snippy with me and just about everybody in the vicinity. To others, it comes across as her diva-ness in full force, but I know better. Every attempt to figure out what's grating on her nerves is swept aside in favour of perfecting her solo or ensuring everyone else is practicing sufficiently. It takes all of my patience not to drag her aside and demand to know why she's acting like I kicked her puppy. Seriously.

So, instead, I just stay out of her way. I'm not a huge feature in this setlist, and that's okay with me. I'll just dance and sing in the background like I usually do, and sing my half-verse of the female-led song Santana and Mercedes are totally going to nail... with just a little bit more practice.

We spend all of Glee rehearsing, and then go well into the night. Puck makes a pizza run, to which we all contribute, and we take an hour-long break to rest and recuperate. Rachel sits at the edge of the stage, her feet dangling, and my heart hurts at the sight of her. I just - I don't understand. Sighing to myself, I grab two slices of the vegan pizza I made sure they ordered, and make my way over to her. I settle down beside her, hearing my knees click. Even my joints are exhausted.

Silently, I pass her the paper plate, which she takes from me. I'm so relieved; I actually miss the sight of her grateful smile. I won't ask her what's wrong. Frankly, I don't think I intend on asking her anything. I just want to talk to her.

"I think Puck polished off an entire pizza by himself," I say conversationally, swinging my legs like a toddler. I stare down into the orchestra pit and hold my breath. I'll die if she doesn't say something back.

Saving my life, she finally speaks, "He'll probably say it's his Jewish genes," and I can breathe again.

"I think calling him a pig right now would be doubly insulting then."

She giggles, and I mentally pat myself on the back. But then she falls silent, and all my good feeling washes away. "Quinn?"

I want to touch her, but I don't trust myself. "Yes, dear."

She glances at me. "Do you know what's going on?"

I shake my head. "I usually do," I confess. "Sometimes, I understand you better than I understand myself, but I'm afraid I'm very lost right now."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

"Why are you sorry?"

I blink. "I _must_ have done something," I say. Then: "Is it - " my voice catches; "is it something from the notebooks?"

"Quinn!" she shrieks, and the auditorium falls silent, all eyes on us.

I don't dare turn around to look at them.

Santana huffs. "Q, I swear to all that is holy, I will fucking end you if you get her riled up again!"

"Shut up, Santana!" Rachel snaps, her eyes never leaving my face. "Quinn," she says, more quietly, almost desperately. "It's not the notebooks. I love the notebooks."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry," she says. "God, is that what you've been thinking this entire time?"

I don't even have a response.

She scrubs her face with her hands. "Look, it's nothing, really," she says. "I just - it's _me_ , okay? I'm just trying to figure something out and accept it, and I'm struggling, and I'm sorry I've made you worry over this so much. I _promise_ it's not the notebooks. I love them, and I love all you've offered to me. I'm just - I'm trying not to be selfish."

I frown. "I don't know what that means."

She sighs. "I'll explain later."

Only, she doesn't get around to it.

Somehow, we get through the rest of practice without anyone breaking a bone or another fight breaking out. When Mr Schuester deems our performance acceptable - we'll run through it another few times in the morning - he lets us leave, and Rachel and I go to her house. She's supposed to explain whatever's going on to me but, as soon we're showered and dressed for bed, she uses her mouth for other things. Now, on any other night, I wouldn't be complaining, but I have to say something now. Well, I _try_ to.

"Rachel - " I start, only to be silenced by a firm kiss. "We have - " another kiss " - to talk - " and another " - about this."

"Shut up, Quinn," she suddenly says. "I really don't want to do any talking right now."

My eyes widen slightly, and then they resemble saucers when her lips descend on mine in a bruising kiss as she knocks me into my back and straddles my hips. It... hurts, but in a good way. If that makes sense. She bites and she tugs, following with her tongue to soothe, and this is probably the roughest kiss we've had to date. And, her hands aren't docile either. Her nails dig into my flesh and scrape across my sensitive skin. I don't - I don't know what I did, but it all seems as if this is a manifestation of her _anger_. At me; at something.

Without warning, she rips open my pyjama top, exposing my chest, and we both gasp. "Rachel," I start, but she clamps a hand over my mouth.

"What did I say?" she asks, her gaze hard and unwavering. "I don't want to hear another word out of you. Understand?"

All I can really do is nod, and she immediately continues to undress me, until I'm stripped to just my panties.

I'm at her mercy, lying prone and unable to do anything. She won't let me. She bats my hands away whenever I try to touch her and she keeps my hips still with the weight of her body. The most I can do is moan and squirm and writhe and breathe, as she presses open-mouthed kisses down the length of the front of my body. Despite the rage in her limbs, her lips still ghost over scars, worshipping them in a way that makes my chest tighten. She pays close attention to my breasts, her tongue swirling and her mouth sucking on the soft flesh. I arch right into her, just to be pressed back down to the bed.

"Rachel," I complain, but she just shushes me with her mouth. I don't - I don't even know what's happening right now but, God, it feels so good. And, I'm so focused on her mouth, I almost forget she has hands too. Where are those? Oh.

 _Oh_.

She kisses the flesh over my hip bones next, biting down and leaving delightful marks. It's a struggle to keep quiet and, when she runs her tongue the length of my abdominal muscles, I moan hard and long. She looks at me, smug, and I grab for her shoulders, pulling her up so I can wipe that smirk off her face.

It's a wrestle for dominance now, tongues tangling and hands desperate to touch. I just about manage to flip us, and I press my body along hers, keeping her still. Before I can even ask her the questions I've been burning to ask, her one leg slips between mine, and all coherent thought fails me. She's back in control now, and she rolls us again, so she's on top of me. I lose myself to the desire and the lust and the want, and I suddenly don't even care that her fathers are asleep just down the corridor. Regardless, she clamps a hand over my mouth to muffle the sounds I can't seem to stop making and I struggle to breathe around it as we move together, and then come together, having found that infinite space of unbridled pleasure.

Afterwards, wrapping her in my arms, I try again. "Rach - " I start, with the same result.

"Quinn, please," she whispers, and she sounds desperate. "Just, not tonight. _Please_."

All I do is hum, tighten my arms around her and try not to think this feels as if it's the beginning of the end.

* * *

Rachel isn't in bed when I wake up. She isn't anywhere, in fact. I find a note on her desk, telling me she's already gone to the auditorium to practice her solo. I feel the weight of the lie settle on my chest. She might be at the auditorium, sure, but we all know she doesn't need the practice. She's there because she doesn't want to be here, with me. It's something I can't ignore, and my irritation with her is finding the strangest ways to manifest. I end up painting my nails in alternating colours: black and gold. I curl my hair to the left instead of the right - my latent OCD spikes at this, but I don't really care - and I tie the sash around my waist in a different type of knot. Rachel will probably notice and I _want_ her to be irritated by it.

Breathing a sigh, I head downstairs to find only Hiram in the kitchen. He compliments me on my dress, and then we have a relatively silent breakfast. Maybe he can sense the tension in my entire body because he doesn't attempt to engage me in conversation at all. Florence and I won't be able to meet today because of Regionals but she did email me a few of her assignments to look at. For a while, I was convinced I wasn't actually _helping_ her with anything, but now I know I am. It's in her marks, yes, but also in the way she writes with little to no hesitation now. She trusts herself now. The words flow, even on paper, and I'm so insanely proud of her, I don't even have the words. I told her once that I'm so proud of her that it makes me proud of me, and she burst out crying... which is why I'll probably never say that again. For someone who's practically a habitual crier, I don't handle tears all that well.

Like a sane person, I arrive at the choir room at the allocated time, and move straight towards Brittany and Santana. Brittany pulls me into a tight hug, as if she senses I need it, and Santana practically growls at me.

"Seriously, Q," she says through gritted teeth. "Control your woman before I slap her."

I clench my jaw. "Rachel's free to make her own choices," I say. "The consequences be what they may."

Santana stares at me. "Trouble in paradise?"

"I just want this fucking day to be over so I can finally get some proper sleep."

She chuckles. "I love it when you bring out the bitch," she says, grinning wickedly. "Just something about a good Christian girl cursing that makes the devil in me purr."

I arch an eyebrow. "Who said anything about 'good?'" I ask pointedly, and she lets out a full-body laugh that draws attention to us. I barely look, but I'm sure people can tell _I'm_ responsible for the laughter. Surprising, isn't it? Quinn Fabray has a sense of humour.

Mr Schuester gets our attention, clapping his hands together and beaming. For some reason, I'm irritated with him too. I'm annoyed with practically everyone and I'm failing miserably at keeping the scowl off my face. Today is supposed to be a good day; an uplifting day, but Rachel's ruined it for me. She's probably ruined it for others too, and it seriously bugs me that I still don't know why.

Anyway.

We find out from Kurt that the Dalton Warblers also changed their setlist in support of Karofsky. Apparently, Blaine - truly 'manipulative' Blaine Anderson - let it _slip_ to one of his old friends about the New Directions' plans, and the all-boy singers decided to follow our lead. It's surprising, really, because that Sebastian kid doesn't seem like the type that cares about much of anything. Which is a thought that gives me pause because, until recently, I'm sure most people would have said the same about me. Masks mean _nothing_.

"We're still going to win," Artie says, and there's a small cheer.

I don't know why I do it, but I just _have_ to say something. I can't stop thinking about Kurt's devastation, or my own uncontrollable fear of ever being found out. "It's about more than that," I say, and the choir room falls silent. "Don't get me wrong, I want to win as much as the next person, but it's about more than that. Today especially. Please don't forget that."

Brittany's arm slips around my waist, and Santana's hand curls around my own.

"You're right, Quinn," Mr Schuester finally says. "We shouldn't forget." There's a crackle of silence, before he's ushering us to the auditorium for a run through. We manage to go through it twice - it's amazing - before people start to arrive. Excitedly, we retreat to the choir room and try to contain ourselves. I'm decidedly not looking at Rachel, and she's also ignoring me... I think. I'd know if I wasn't determined not to acknowledge her.

But, when she sings, I'm forced to pay attention. Whatever you think about Rachel Berry, that voice of hers is penetrating, and it amazes me just how everyone in this world isn't falling over themselves hopelessly in love with her. I _would_ be, if ever I allowed myself to feel that lost and out of control.

It's almost noon when the Midwest Regional Competition actually starts. We learn that our judges are Melva Texon White, Mr Hob Bandols and Svengoobles, who are people I didn't even know existed until the very moment we shuffle into the auditorium and take our assigned seats. Rachel sits with Kurt, and Blaine sits with Sam and Rory. I can sense the couple's tension, and I wonder if it's to do with Karofsky. I make a mental note to ask Blaine how he's doing... over that coffee we just haven't seemed to get around to.

"Where did they find these people?" I mutter to Santana, and she rolls her eyes _intheguttersomewhereprobably_. She's probably right. They brought them out of the woodwork, specifically for today, and then they'll return them when the day is over. It makes sense to me. "And, really, don't people need _some_ kind of qualification to be a judge at one of these things?"

"Q, you're preaching to the choir here," she returns, and then the entire thing is starting. The three of us sit huddled together, Brittany in the middle, and Mercedes is practically vibrating on my right side.

The first of the competitors to perform is The Golden Goblets from Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow, which automatically makes me think of _Harry Potter_. _Goblet of Fire_ has always been my favourite of the books, and it's probably for several reasons, the more important ones being that it's pure and bridled happiness for those who ship Harry and Hermione _and_ it's the book during which the War becomes real and true, where everything goes dark. I suppose I relate to that moment; when everything is so hopeless and your back is against the wall. To this day, I still haven't figured out how to be brave like Harry; to step out from behind cover and face the Dark.

Though, maybe if I had a wand, it would be slightly easier.

The Golden Goblets are... interesting. They're good, definitely, and Puck even mentions that he didn't expect them to be as good as they are. I suppose, even in show choir, one cannot ever underestimate the competition. We clap for them. Well, Brittany and I do, and Santana just glares.

"Be nice," Brittany says, and I chuckle when Santana claps as well.

After a brief break, the Dalton Academy Warblers take the stage, looking all kinds of pristine in their tailored blazers and hundred dollar haircuts. I spot Sebastian at the same time Santana does, and she lets out a low growl. Those two _definitely_ don't get along. I mean, she doesn't get along with most people, but that boy has done enough to suffer the true Lima Heights Adjacent ire of one Santana Lopez. He really does have a punchable face when he wears that stupid smirk.

Regardless, when they sing _Stand_ by Lenny Kravitz, we cheer for them, because the message is so much more important than the competition today. People look at us strangely, particularly members of The Golden Goblets, but I don't care, and it seems neither do the others. Why should we?

"They're not half bad," Santana comments as their soloist comes on, which is as great a compliment they're ever going to get out of her. I don't recognise the song the boy is singing, but he's good. A little _too_ good, if you ask me, but we still clap politely. Their rendition of _Glad You Came_ by The Wanted is pretty great. Even I can admit that. They dance and sing and do backflips, and I've always wondered why Mr Schuester hasn't even _asked_ us if we'd want to incorporate some of the stunts we do as Cheerios into New Directions' choreography. It could take us to another level. Hmm. Maybe for Nationals.

As soon as they sing the last note of their set, Mr Schuester gets us up and we return to the choir room for a quick pep talk. It isn't much of one, really. Rachel, surprisingly, has nothing to say, and Finn's 'Let's do this!' falls flat. We put our hands into the centre of our huddle anyway, Mr Schuester counts backwards from three, and then we all scream 'New Directions.' It's a little lame and lack lustre, but it's still something.

I always get a little nervous before a Glee performance. I'm better at the Cheerios, which is odd because I'm usually up front and dead centre for those routines. Well. Definitely not for this one. In fact, Rachel's beautiful voice starts the _Fly/I Believe I Can Fly_ by Nicki Minaj ft Rihanna/R. Kelly mashup that always manages to sound like the purest silk there is. Santana's rapping is considerably better than Blaine's, but he does try, and Artie's smooth voice is such perfection; I can't help smiling like an idiot in the background. It's a beautiful song with a beautiful message, and even the sourest Warblers cheer for us.

For our next song, Rachel and the boys leave the stage. Santana and Mercedes are leading us through _What Doesn't Kill You (Stronger)_ by Kelly Clarkson and it's as if their voices carry to the other side of the world. It's fast-paced, and Brittany and I _dance_. Dancing is my favourite part, I think; far superior to the singing, in my opinion.

Though, I chuck all those thoughts in the bin the second Rachel opens her mouth for her solo of Halestorm's _Here's To Us_. She's just so impassioned, and she sings with such emotion and gusto that it stills my soul and sets my body on fire. I don't know if it's because I know what it feels like when she comes and shudders beneath me, but my entire world shrinks to that one body on the stage and nothing else matters in this world.

 _Nobody_ else matters.

The applause is deafening - as expected - and we leave the stage feeling confident. Mr Schuester encourages us to stay close while the judges deliberate, but Santana and Brittany sneak off anyway. I don't waste any time closing my hand around Rachel's wrist and dragging her out of the auditorium into the corridor. She puts her hands up when I pull us to a stop, and I automatically shrink back.

"I'm not going to _hurt_ you," I snarl.

She looks at me with wide eyes. "I was more concerned you were going to _kiss_ me," she says, and all the energy in my body seems to drain away.

Regardless, I bristle at her confession. "Why is that such a concern of yours?" I ask.

"Uh, we're in public."

I shake my head. What the hell is going on right now? "Look, I just wanted to ask you something," I say. "When you sang your solo; who were you singing to?"

She frowns, clearly confused. "Quinn?"

"Who were you singing to?" I ask again.

"You," she says seriously. "Always you. _Only_ you."

I take in a breath, and then breathe it out slowly. I'm calm, and I intend on telling her that she's it for me. After this week, it's all a little clearer and, sure, it might not be the best time in the world, but I really do love her, and she is all I've ever wanted. "I - "

"Fabray!"

I startle, and we both turn towards the sound of the booming voice. Coach Sylvester is bounding towards us, and I just catch sight of Rachel stiffening. "I'll talk to you later," I say to her because she should really leave _right now_. Thankfully, she takes the cue, and I'm, mercifully, standing alone when Coach Sylvester reaches me.

"So, is _this_ why three of my best cheerleaders missed practice this morning?" she asks, her voice layered with sarcasm and something harsh.

"I informed you of this three weeks ago," I tell her, as calmly as I can. I'm really in no mood for her antics right now, and I'll probably just acquiesce to whatever punishment she's probably dreaming up for us. But, well, let's just say I've never been so relieved to see Mr Schuester when he pops his head out of the auditorium.

"We're going back on for the announcements," he says, and I start moving immediately, leaving Coach Sylvester to call after me. Not today. I follow Mr Schuester onto the stage and take my place beside Brittany, just behind Santana. Brittany holds my hand and I grip at the sash around Santana's waist. For some reason, it feels much softer than mine under my fingers. It's all I'm paying attention to as they announce the winners, and then Brittany is crushing me in a hug, and Santana tugs on my hair with the biggest smile on her face.

I get hugs left, right and centre. Even one from Finn, and the feel of his arms around me is too comforting and familiar, so I pull out of it almost immediately. I try not to look at his face as I hug Mercedes. When Rachel hugs me, she hesitates for only a beat, and then she's in my arms and pressing her face into the crook of my neck.

"Let's go home," she murmurs, and I oblige.

Granted, it takes a while. Hours, actually, because Puck insists we go to for pizza to celebrate. So, we go. Rachel holds my hand under the table, and we both smile and laugh, but I don't release her for anything. I feel as if I have to hold on as tightly as possible, in case she decides to let go. I don't want to have to be without her, and the idea of her walking away because I can't give her something she's not telling me she wants is _terrifying_.

It's later than I first realised by the time we pull up at the Berry home, each of us in our own car... because Rachel left without me this morning. And, now I'm irritated and angry again. I force it as far down as I can as we interact with her fathers, all four of us reliving the performances and the awarding of the trophy. Her fathers are planning on going out for the evening, so we'll have the house to ourselves for a few hours, which doesn't really excite me as much as it should.

We have celebratory dessert - vegan chocolate mousse, because we've _just_ eaten - and then we go upstairs. It's not particularly night time yet, but I still change out of my dress and hang it up in Rachel's closet. We move around each other in silence, and then nothing. She stops moving near the door, and I stop just in front of her.

The air crackles and sparks with all the words we're not saying; with all the anger and tension and questions and uncertainty.

It ignites.

Her back thuds against the door, _hard_ , and the air leaves her body, straight into mine. There's a mouth, and a tongue, teeth, and there are hands. She's moaning with every stroke of my tongue, and we're pressed so tightly together that I can practically feel her hip bones through my skin. I drag my lips from her mouth and kiss her jaw, her neck, and suck on her earlobe. She's panting in my ear, and I can't stop myself from imagining all the amazing, dirty things I'd like to do to her.

"God, why aren't we having sex?" I find myself asking, the world shrinking down to the very feel of her pressed against me. It's the wrong to say, definitely, because she asks a question I suddenly realise she's been wanting to ask for a while.

She pulls her mouth away from mine, her chestnut eyes meeting my hazel. "Why haven't you told me you love me?" she asks, all serious, and the heat of the moment is gone, replaced with something _cold and calculated_. It's the question that's turned this entire week into a nightmare, I finally figure. It's the reason she's been acting like a raging diva; the reason she's been so short with me and everybody else. It's the reason she's had me so bent out of shape over what she read in the notebooks, thinking that I somehow _did_ something in my past to make her question me or our relationship.

And, when I realise all of this, it makes me irrationally angry. Because, really, it all feels like a slap to the face, and I _know_ what that feels like. I immediately drop my hands from her body and take a large step back, needing to put some distance between us so I can think straight. I just - I don't understand. Where is any of this even coming from? "Rachel," I breathe, my face twisted into a scowl.

She shakes her head, eyes wide and mouth set. We're doing this right now, apparently. "Why?" she repeats. "I want to know _why_."

I run a desperate hand through my hair, trying and failing to keep calm. "I'm not doing this with you right now," I say through gritted teeth.

"Then when, Quinn?" she asks, incredulous. "When, dammit?" Her face is suddenly an inch from mine, and she looks determined. "When?" she asks again. "How long do I have to wait for something from you? _Anything_."

I just stare at her. "What the hell are you talking about?" I snap.

She doesn't back away. "It _amazes_ me that you don't already know," she says, her voice laced with the type of sarcasm that actually makes me flinch. Quinn Fabray _doesn't_ flinch.

"I'm not a fucking mindreader," I bark, my face heating up as my own irritation and anger rises. "Use your words, Berry. It's what you're good at."

Her eyes narrow, and we stare at each other for the longest time. Then: "And you wonder why we're not having sex."

I clench my jaw. "Are you seriously trying to tell me you're saying you're not ready for sex because I haven't told you I love you?"

The hard look on her face doesn't even falter. "Do you not love me, Quinn?" she asks, her voice small, and I can barely look at her. "I mean, you clearly don't have a problem telling Santana or Brittany you love them," she points out. "So, what is it? Is it me? Is it something about _me_ , Quinn?"

This is a moment where I can give in. I know I can, but I don't. I'm just so angry, and why the hell has she been waiting so damn long to bring any of this up if it's been bothering her so damn much? "Of course, it's _you_ ," I practically shriek and, this time, she does back up a bit. Good. "What else would it be, Berry? Don't you get it? It's you. It's always going to be you, and I really just can't do this right now."

"No," she snaps back. "We're going to talk about this."

"No," I counter. "We're not."

"Just tell me why!"

"No!"

"Quinn!"

"For fuck's sake, what do you want from me?" I hurl at her, stepping back again. "What, Berry? What do you _want_?"

"I shouldn't have to tell you," she yells back. "Why won't you just say it? Don't you see? Can't you see what it's doing to me?"

My eyes narrow. "What it's doing to _you_? What the hell is this? We're not children, Berry! This isn't some 'I love you' festival, or whatever the fuck you want from me!"

"I just want to know what you _feel_ ," she says. "Why won't you just _tell me_?"

"No!" I scream. "You just want to hear what you want to hear, and you can't stand that I haven't bent to your will! You want something very specific from me, and you don't know how to get it, so now you're just acting like a petulant child. There aren't any wagers here, and you can't use your hands and your mouth to get what you want out of me, so you've been acting like a raging bitch for _days_ because you're really an insolent toddler who isn't getting what she wants."

Rachel stares at me with wide eyes and trembling lips. We're both breathing heavily, as if we've both run half-marathons. I recognise we're at an impasse; some kind of crossroads, and our next words are very important. I just - I didn't think _those_ would be the next words to leave her mouth.

"Get out."

I sputter. "What?"

"Get out," she repeats, moving away from the door and to the other side of her bed. It's the furthest point away from me, while still being in the same room. "I don't want to hear from you or see you until you've figured things out."

"Rachel," I say in disbelief, and she just presses her lips together in defiance. She isn't going to say another word, and she wants me to leave. I - I don't even know what's happening right now. Why is she doing this? Why now? "Rachel?" I try again.

Nothing.

"You're - you're kicking me out?"

The charge of her silence is enough to take me back to a night when the microwave timer was set, and I find I can't quite catch my breath. Oh.

Well.

"I'm sorry I'm so fucking messed up, okay?" I say. "I'm sorry I don't know how to give you what you want! You deserve someone who is intentional and very clear about their feelings for you. You shouldn't have to sit around and wonder about how I feel about you..." I trail off, blinking rapidly. I _won't_ cry. "I'm sorry I so clearly can't be the person you need."

There are tears in her eyes.

I can't believe this is the thing that breaks us. I mean, after _everything_ , why is _this_ the thing she can't seem to accept? I shake my head, ridding my head of all the thoughts and start to turn. I'm _getting out_. I'll go and -

I don't know. I just - I don't know how to give her what she so desperately wants without - without _what_? Losing myself completely? Descending into madness? Giving up what little control I seem to have when it comes to Rachel Berry? _Breaking_? All of the above.

My shoulders sag, my breath leaves my body and I bend to grab my duffel bag. I open the door, glance over my shoulder at her - she's turned away from me - and then I leave.

She lets me.


	28. twenty-eight

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _she asked_ _'you are in love,_ _what does love look like'  
_ _to which i replied_ _'like everything i've ever lost_ _come back to me.'_

 _._

After my much needed nap following _that_ conversation, I wake up with a bad feeling. Generally, I'm in a good mood when I wake up from a nap, but something isn't right and I don't know why. I mean, it's obviously to do with Quinn. We _fought_. We've never fought like that... since we started dating, at least, and it's unsettling. My nap should have helped. I don't want to feel like this right now, or at all. I realise the fight was, essentially, my fault. I _knew_ she would raise her walls and retreat as soon as I brought it up, and I _definitely_ shouldn't have brought it up while we were halfway to undressing each other.

With a sigh, I roll out of bed and go to the bathroom. I'm uncomfortable with the way my fight with Quinn ended - well, the way it began, transpired _and_ ended. If it even ended. She just looked so hurt and betrayed that I hadn't brought it up before; as if I blindsided her the way that Finn did. Trying to suppress my unease, I go downstairs to get something to drink. I decide on some tea, which helps by distracting me until I get back to my bedroom and locate my phone. It bounced off my bed and landed on the floor when I threw it in a fit of rage earlier. Gosh, I'm such a drama queen.

I have seven messages and five missed calls, all of which are from Santana Lopez. I feel a spike of irritation at the idea that Quinn is using her best friend to contact me or try to play mediator. Really, Santana, keeping the peace? Quinn should have gone with Brittany.

I read the messages anyway.

 _ **Santana: Why aren't you answering your phone?**_

 _ **Santana: Berry, you need to answer your phone.**_

 _ **Santana: Pick up the phone.**_

 _ **Santana: Berry, answer your fucking phone.**_

 _ **Santana: Berry. Fuck. Answer your phone.**_

 _ **Santana: So help me, I will fucking skin you alive if you don't answer the phone.**_

 _ **Santana: Rachel, please, it's important.**_

That bad feeling roars to life and I suck in a sharp breath. Santana has never called me Rachel. Even though we've grown closer these past months through our Quinn-management, I've remained Hobbit, Midget and Berry. Never Rachel. _Never_.

I set my tea down and immediately call her number, unprepared for what she's about to tell me.

"Berry," she answers after the fourth ring. She sounds solemn, and my heart lurches.

"Santana, what's wrong?" I ask. "And I'm sorry I missed your calls. I was catching a nap, and I just needed some time alone after - "

"Berry," she interrupts, and there's none of her usual irritation or amusement. She just sounds... empty. "There's been an accident," she says, and my heart stops. The world stops. "It's Quinn. She's - she's hurt. It's... bad, Berry. It's really bad."

I blink, unsure if I've heard correctly. Wait. What?

"Berry?"

I snap to attention. "I don't understand."

"Come to the hospital," she says. "I'll explain when you get here." And then she hangs up. I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for the longest time. My hand is shaking, snapshots of Santana's words pinging about my brain. _Quinn_. _Accident_. _Bad_. _Hospital_.

I suck in a panicked breath and lurch into action. I don't even know what I'm doing, throwing clothes on and searching for my keys. I stumble over myself in my rush and my eyes are stinging with pooling tears. I fumble blindly for things, sheer panic ripping through my entire body. What is happening? What am I doing? Where am I going? Hospital. I have to get to the hospital. Quinn. Quinn was in an accident. Oh, God.

I don't even know how I make it downstairs, or into my car, or even to the hospital without getting into an accident of my own. My entire body is shaking, not just my hands, and I'm halfway to falling apart by the time I find a parking spot and rush into the building, blindly. I make a beeline for the front desk and get a nurse's attention. Maybe she sees my facial expression, because she immediately gives me her undivided attention.

"I need someone to tell me what's happening," I find myself saying, my heart thundering in my chest. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. "Quinn Fabray," I choke out. "She was in an accident."

Before the woman can respond, another voice speaks. "Berry?"

I turn sharply to look at Santana and crumple. Her expression must mirror mine: devastation and fear. "San," I whisper.

She walks towards me, her steps slow and jerky. "They asked me to wait in there," she says, gesturing to some obscure space behind her. "They're going to let me know when she's out of surgery and in recovery."

I blink. "Surgery?"

"She's in surgery right now," she says seriously and matter-of-factly, as if she's reading off some kind of fact sheet. "They - they brought her in a little while ago. They won't tell me how serious her injuries are, but it's bad, Berry. She's in a bad way."

I don't even know what to say. I can't seem to process anything other than _bad_. _Surgery_. Quinn is in surgery. Because she was in an accident. Quinn was in an accident.

Santana is now in front of me, her hands on my upper arms. "Come sit down," she says. "You look like you're about to pass out."

I _feel_ as if I'm going to pass out. I let her guide me, her hands turning me this way and that until we go into what must be the waiting area. She forces me to sit in a chair, and she occupies the one beside me. "I don't understand," I force out. "What - why are - " I suck in a breath. " _Santana_."

She puts a hand on my back, trying to soothe my trembling form. "She called me earlier," she says, falling into the story as if it happened to someone else. "I don't know what was wrong but she didn't sound _right_. She said she needed to talk to me about something, and I told her I was home, so she could just come by. Britt was going to be coming by anyway. Between the two of us, we're usually able to help her sort out her shit. I mean, she's got so much going on in that pretty blonde head of hers all the time, it takes at least two other people to make sense of it."

I force away a wave of guilt.

"And the fact that she _wanted_ to talk about it means something, right?" Santana goes on, once again talking in that faraway tone. "I was surprised, of course. I thought she was supposed to be with you and, when I asked, she just said she was on her way. So, I waited. And waited. And waited." She sits back, her hand forming soothing circles over my shoulder blade. "My dad is the one who called me, said that Quinn's car was hit by a truck at an intersection in Burrow, on her way to see _me_ ," she continues in a monotone. "He was here when they brought her in." Her hand stops moving. "I've seen my dad be many things, Berry, but today is the first time I've ever seen him fearful. He was _scared_ , and I don't think I will ever get that image out of my head."

I close my eyes, feeling my tears slide down my cheeks. I'm not even bothered to wipe them away.

"She was coming to see me," she says, her mind somewhere else. I can hear it in her voice and, if I were to look at her, I would see unfocused eyes. "She sounded _off_ , and she wanted to talk and she was coming to see me and now she's in surgery and she might not make it and I didn't even - "

I let out a whimper and she immediately snaps out of it.

"I'm sorry," she says, and she's holding back tears. "I'm sorry," she says again. "I wish Britt were here. She would know what to say. I don't know how to deal with this shit. Why does Quinn always fucking do this to us? I'm too fucking young for this, and I keep telling her she's taking years off my life with all the stress of - "

"Santana," I suddenly say, and her mouth snaps shut.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "It seems I turn into you when I'm nervous."

I manage to open my eyes and look at her. Her cheeks are as wet as mine are. "Did they call her mother?"

"According to my dad, yes."

I roll my lips together. "Do you think she'll show up?"

"I know she's a heartless bitch and all that, but this _has_ to be crossing some line, surely," she says. "Also, it's part of keeping up appearances. She has to come. Imagine the scandal it would be if Quinn died and her mother didn't even fucking show up."

My chest constricts and I make a strangled sound deep in my throat.

Santana grimaces. "Sorry," she says again. "Apparently, I'm also inappropriate when I'm nervous."

I rub the tops of my thighs with my hands, fighting off the panic. Quinn is in surgery. Quinn was in an accident. We have to wait here for news. No news is good news, right? My nails dig into my thigh until it hurts. It helps me focus, and I take out my phone. I don't have it in me to call either of my dads, so I rather send them both texts with my trembling fingers, just telling them that Quinn was in an accident and she's in surgery and please come to the hospital. I'm falling apart.

Santana resumes her circles.

"How long?" I ask.

She glances at the clock on the wall. "Seventy-four minutes."

I try to take a deep breath, but I just break out in a coughing fit that _hurts_. My chest, my head, my heart. I dig my nails into my flesh again, trying to find something on which to focus. The pain isn't enough and I bite the inside of my cheek instead, hard enough to draw blood. Santana and I just sit in silence, her hand moving on my back and my body so tense that it actually hurts.

"Ninety-six minutes," she says after a while, and her voice brings me out of my frozen state, my body jerking and startling us both.

"She has to be all right, Santana," I suddenly say, tears pooling in my eyes. "I won't lose her."

"I know."

"I _can't_ ," I cry. "I won't survive it. I mean, we're just starting out. We're so young and she has so much life to live, and this world needs her. _I_ need her, and this can't - " I choke back a sob.

She wraps her arms around me, and I think she needs it almost as much as I do. We just stay there, holding each other and trying not to let the situation overwhelm us, even though it's definitely threatening to. At some point, Santana shifts, and then she's releasing me and getting to her feet. "Dad?" she says. "Dad, what's happening? How's Quinn?"

Dr Lopez wraps his arms around her and _where are my dads_? "She's still in surgery, Santi," he says, his tone stiff but still gentle. "I told you Dr Murphy is an excellent surgeon. She's in good hands."

Santana's lip quivers. "Daddy," she whispers, clinging to him.

"She's lucky they got her here as fast as they did," he says, and the truth of that statement sits heavily on my heart. "She's lucky she was driving that SUV instead of her little buggie, or you and I would be having an entirely different conversation." I shrink into myself, clutching at my stomach. I want to throw up. The more I think about, the more I think I'm going to. If she wasn't driving that monstrosity of a vehicle, Quinn - Quinn would be - she'd be -

I cry out, and then I dash for the nearest trashcan, expelling the limited food I've consumed today. I was too preoccupied with nerves about _everyone else_ this morning to have more than coffee and an apple, I barely ate at the restaurant and chocolate mousse isn't much, and then Quinn and I fought. We _fought_ , when we should have been celebrating. We should be in my bedroom right now, wrapped up in each other's arms and _being_.

Santana comes to kneel beside me, warm palm once again on my back, and hands me a paper towel and a bottle of water. I don't even know what to do. What do I do? Santana seems to sense that, and she guides me once again. I end up back in my chair with a clean mouth and an empty heart. I _feel_ dirty. Did I do this? I feel as if I did this. She's in surgery because of me. She was in an accident because of me.

Other people start to arrive then. Brittany is first and looking frantic as she stumbles into the waiting room. Santana is up and wrapped in her arms before I can even register the blonde's blue eyes.

"Is Q okay?" Brittany asks.

"Oh, honey," Santana says, tightening her grip on her girlfriend. "We don't know yet."

Brittany looks devastated. "We were supposed to see her," she mumbles. "She was coming over to talk about - " she stops suddenly, her eyes nervously glancing my way. I immediately drop my gaze. Well, there it is, isn't it? Quinn was only on the road because I decided _today_ was the day to bring up her lack of words. Tears pool in my eyes again but, before I can blink them away, Brittany is kneeling in front of me. "Hi, Rach," she whispers.

"Hi, Britt," I manage to say.

"Are you okay?"

"No."

"You will be."

More people arrive; mostly Glee and a few Cheerios. I barely notice them. Santana sits on my one side and Blaine flanks the other, his hand in mine. I notice Kurt give him a curious look, but Blaine doesn't react to it. He just squeezes my hand from time to time, and the pressure helps keep me present.

"Oh, fuck," Santana suddenly says and I lift my head to a full waiting room.

"What?"

Santana sits up straight. "Bitch Fabray, eleven o'clock."

I look forward immediately and, indeed, there is Mrs Fabray. She looks so prim and proper in her pastel skirt suit that makes her look like a real desperate housewife. I immediately bare my teeth. What took her so long? Look at all these other people who're here, and they aren't even related to Quinn.

"Easy, Berry," Santana says to me. "If _I_ can sit here and not skin her alive, then so can you."

I hide my teeth but I don't relax.

The woman pauses when she sees all of us, nods once, and then finds a seat. I don't know if she can ignore the various glares sent her way, but she makes a good show of trying. She sits perfectly straight, legs crossed at the ankles under her chair, and I suddenly just want to punch her in the face. I've never been much of a violent person, but I'm raging inside.

Blaine squeezes my hand and I calm a fraction. For the first time, I take in the waiting room; seeing all their faces. They're _all_ here. My gaze settles on Finn, and it's obvious he's been crying. He still is, actually. Puck looks particularly stricken, and he's sitting in the corner, folded into a chair and not saying or doing anything. Sam is the same, his happy smile gone completely. Mercedes looks glum, her eyes haunted. Tina's head is bent and her shoulders are shaking. Artie is facing away from us, and I think it's on purpose. Mike is fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. Brittany is whispering words into Santana's ear, who is still rubbing my back. Kurt sits still - he looks conflicted about something. Joe looks like he's praying. Mr Schuester looks forlorn and... guilty. Ms Pillsbury's eyes are wide and... frightened. Rory is looking at the ceiling, murmuring something to himself. Lauren looks positively bored and Sugar just looks out of place. I try to place the other Cheerios - Adrienne, Lauren and others - but stop after I give myself a headache. What is important is that these are the people who showed up.

They're all here. And Quinn is still in surgery. Quinn was in an accident. Because of me.

"One hundred and eighty-three minutes," Santana whispers at some point, and it sounds as if she's yelling. I jump in my seat, let out an unexpected laugh and then start crying again. "Sorry," she says again, and I just pat her leg. I check my phone for any word from my dads, but there's nothing and I'm irrationally angry with them both. Quinn was in an accident. Quinn is in surgery. Why aren't they here?

It's at two hundred and fifty-three minutes that we get any news about Quinn. A doctor comes to the waiting area, looking exhausted, and I can't help but notice the spot of blood on his shoe, which means there had to be a lot more on it earlier. Don't they have to wear protection for their shoes?

"Fabray?" he says, and every single one of us - save for Artie - gets to his or her feet. His eyes widen slightly. "Just her family please," he says, and I bristle at that.

Finn speaks up. "We _are_ her family," he says, conviction in his voice, and I suddenly want to hug him.

Mrs Fabray clears her throat and the doctor turns to look at her. "Are you her mother?" he asks. I'm quite certain I'm not the only one who doesn't miss her hesitation before she nods. "Will you step out with me please?" he says, and she nods again, letting him lead the way.

"Oh, hell no," Santana says, grabbing my hand and tugging me forward. I let go of Blaine, and the two of us follow behind Mrs Fabray. The doctor looks as if he wants to tell us it's a private conversation, but I notice that Dr Lopez has come with us - and Finn, apparently, but I barely register him - and the doctor just accepts our presence.

The doctor clears his throat and stands a little straighter. I can't quite read his facial expression - it's giving nothing away - and I'm once again struck by my desire to punch someone's face. "My name is Dr Adrian Murphy," he says to Mrs Fabray. "I worked on your daughter when she was first brought in. She was awake and responsive, though I do believe she lost consciousness once, moments before they removed her from the vehicle."

I squeeze Santana's hand tight. Quinn was _awake_ , which means she experienced it _all_. Does that mean she'll remember it all?

Dr Murphy continues. "We had to perform emergency surgery. The impact to her left side from the accident was extensive, but she did well. It was touch-and-go for a while, but she's stable now and being moved to recovery."

Mrs Fabray, to her credit, looks relieved.

"She needed a lot of work," he elaborates, and my heart hurts. All of me hurts. "The impact caused her left lung to collapse, which we were able to repair. I had to remove part of her spleen, but there shouldn't be any long term repercussions. She suffered damage to her left kidney, but I saw no need to take any action at this time. We will be monitoring her closely but, otherwise, the repairs went well."

It takes everything I have not to launch into my own tirade of questions. Santana beats me to it, and I send her a mental thank you. "So, she's okay?" she asks, also needing the doctor to be clear. "What you're saying is that she's fine?"

Dr Murphy looks at Santana, and then at Dr Lopez. After a slight nod from the senior doctor, he speaks again. "Her left shoulder separated in the accident, and we reset it during the surgery. She may need revision surgery in the future, but she is going to need physical therapy to recover full motion." Santana just nods, growing into the persona of learning and understanding what the doctor is saying. I can't help thinking she'll definitely make a good doctor one day. "She suffered a severe concussion but our scans have given us no need to be worried at this moment. We're keeping her under close observation. She has significant bruising, but the worst is definitely over." He takes a breath and looks at Mrs Fabray. "There was a complication during surgery," he says morosely, and my heart catches. What? What? "Your daughter lost a lot of blood, which caused her heart rate to drop." His gaze drops. "We lost her for a few minutes."

Finn gasps, Santana clenches her jaw and I try not to pass out. I'm failing.

Dr Murphy's eyes dart around, suddenly realising that was the wrong thing to say in front of a group of teenagers. "But, as I said, she's stable now, and all her vitals look good. We just have to wait for her to wake up."

"When will that be?" Santana asks.

"We can't know," he replies. "It could be hours or even days. It's up to her. At this point, it's better that she rests, to allow her body to recover from the initial trauma and process the shock. Just know that she is receiving the best possible care."

"Are we allowed to see her?" Santana asks.

Dr Murphy swallows. "At this time, only immediate family is allowed in the ICU," he says, and he sounds genuinely sad about it. "Provided her expected recovery continues through the night, she'll be moved into her own room, and you all can see her tomorrow," he says, and I think he's being _extra_ clear for Dr Lopez's benefit. I don't like it. "Ma'am," he says, looking at Mrs Fabray. "If you would follow me."

Again, the woman hesitates, and I resist the urge to lunge at her. How _dare_ she hesitate? Her daughter almost _died_. Why isn't she running? She does eventually move though, and the two of them leave us to work through everything Dr Murphy just told us.

Quinn is in recovery.

Quinn is going to need physical therapy for her shoulder.

Quinn is missing part of her spleen.

Quinn possibly has a damaged kidney.

Quinn is bruised and is suffering from a concussion.

Quinn suffered _only_ these injuries because she was in an SUV and not her little Buggie. Oh, Daisy.

I go through a mental list until I get to the one that terrifies me the most: Quinn _died_ on the operating table. It's the moment I accept that Quinn would and should be dead, if it weren't for her mother deciding that Daisy didn't fit the Fabray image. Quinn would be dead if her mother didn't get in a panic about her friendship with me. I almost want to hug the stiff woman, and I'm relieved she's no longer standing here. Seriously. I hug Santana instead, and we cry. Finn and Dr Lopez go to relay the news to the rest of Glee, and I'm vaguely aware of relieved gasps and whispered questions. A minute later, I feel arms wrap all around us. Brittany. And then more and more arms, until we're all in a large group hug.

"Uh, excuse me?"

The hug breaks up, and all our eyes turn to look at the nurse who spoke.

"I can't have you crowding this area," she says, and Santana bristles. Brittany calms her with a touch, and then we retreat back into the waiting area. Santana immediately starts asking Dr Lopez questions. We should be able to see Quinn. We're more her family than that woman.

I'm just about to sit in my vacated seat when a man comes into view. He's young and handsome, with hardened eyes and soft features. "Excuse me," he says, addressing the group. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but are you friends with Quinn Fabray?"

"We are," Santana says, somewhat guardedly.

The man doesn't seem put out. "I'm, uh, I'm looking for Rachel Berry," he says, and I frown. Who is this man?

"Who are you?" I suddenly ask.

He looks at me, studies my face and smiles. "You _are_ Rachel," he says. "Do you mind if I have a word? It'll be quick."

I glance around nervously, but I know I'm going to go with him. Without a word, I nod, and follow him back out into the corridor. Santana moves to stand behind me, and I say nothing. Neither does the man.

"My name is Ian Martin," he says. "I'm a firefighter, and I was on the scene for Quinn's recovery from the vehicle."

I blink. Oh. _Oh_. I take a breath, feeling my heart rate rise dangerously. Santana steps away, giving us some privacy. "Oh?"

"She was awake when we found her," he continues. "I was responsible for keeping her that way while we worked to get her out, so we talked. She talked a lot about you."

Despite myself, I blush.

"When she started losing consciousness, she started to panic. She was - she was afraid she would fall asleep and never wake up." He closes his eyes for a moment as if he's trying not to picture the scene. "Panic and trauma don't go well, and I had to keep her calm. She - she made me promise I would find you and I would tell you."

I frown. "Tell me what?"

"That she's sorry," he says, and now he's getting oddly emotional. "That she's sorry, and she's sure, and she doesn't know why she waited so long to tell you."

My frown deepens. "Tell me what?" I ask again.

"That she loves you."

I gasp.

He smiles softly. "She said it numerous times, and she asked me to promise I would tell you, and now I have. She loves you, Rachel, and she was determined that the last thing she ever did on this earth was to make sure you knew how she felt. I think there is something beautifully poetic about that."

There is, I'm sure, but I'm too shellshocked to process any of it. I think I say thank you to him. I must say something because he offers me another smile, and then he's gone, leaving me to try to wrap my head around this entire day. _So much_ has happened. And, when I spot Mrs Fabray emerging again, I jerk to attention. I don't care what she thinks of me; I just need to ask her how Quinn is. I follow as she heads for the exit. She's on the phone now, and I make the mistake of hearing what she's saying.

I stop in my tracks. What? I stay rooted to the spot. This day can't be happening. It's not. It can't. I'm still standing there when my dads _finally_ arrive, and they have questions a plenty. I have no answers. All I do is ask them to take me home.

They do.

* * *

The knock on my bedroom door is expected, though I don't particularly _want_ it. I grumble something unintelligible, and the door opens to reveal a truly miffed looking Santana Lopez. I don't blame her. Quinn has been in the hospital for two full days now - as far as I know, she's still unconscious - and I haven't been able to go back to see her. I just - I _can't_.

"Berry, what are you doing?" Santana asks - hands on her hips - and I look up at her from where I'm scribbling in my dream journal. It's nonsensical, but I've managed to convince myself it's helping me make sense of things. "What are you doing _here_?"

I clench my jaw. "I live here."

She bristles, clearly unimpressed with my response. "Quinn is currently lying in a hospital bed. Why haven't you been to see her?"

"Because she wouldn't want to see me."

Santana looks bewildered and, if I wasn't already ripped to shreds inside, I would find it amusing. "What the fuck are you talking about? She's your _girlfriend_. Of course, she wants to see you."

I shake my head. "Not after that night," I say, scrubbing my face with my hands. "We had a fight. Our first _real_ fight." As a couple, at least. We said words, and then said more words.

"About what?"

"I accused her of not loving me because she's never actually said the words," I confess, as tears spring to my eyes. Gosh, I thought I'd already cried all I could. "I told her I didn't want to talk to her until she figured things out, and then I caught a nap and my girlfriend _almost died_." I sob into my hands. "What if I can't take it back, Santana?" I ask. "What if she never forgives me?"

Santana regards me for a moment. "Quinn _loves_ you, Berry, and we both know the truth of that. She may not always tell you how she feels about you, but she will always _show_ you. You just have to pay attention."

I look at her.

"And of course she'll forgive you," she adds a moment later. "But first you have to see her."

I shake my head. "She's lying there and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Well, you could be _there_ for her," she presses. "Just talk to her. It'll make you feel better."

"I don't deserve to feel better."

Santana huffs. "Fine, then don't do it for you, do it for her," she says. "I mean, I don't _know_ if she can hear us but what if she can? What if she can hear us, and what if she's wondering why she isn't hearing _your_ voice? Do you ever think about that? You can think she won't forgive you or whatever, but _I_ won't forgive you if you don't get it together and visit your girlfriend in the fucking hospital."

I drop my gaze, deflating instantly. "How is she?" I ask.

She sighs. "She's still unconscious, but the doctors say her vital signs are improving. It's only a matter of time before she comes back to us, and I know I'm going to be there. The question now is: are you?" When I say nothing, she shakes her head in disappointment, and then leaves.

I crawl into bed, curl into a ball, and cry and cry.

* * *

Brittany visits the next day, and I mentally curse Santana. How does a person say no to Brittany Pierce? And, if ever they figure it out, I'm all ears. Because, as it is, Brittany's arrival equates to exactly one thing: I'm finally going to see Quinn. Brittany is coming with me. Maybe she understands what I'm going through, because I certainly don't. I feel guilty, I do, and I feel conflicted. I didn't think there would be a situation where I would blame myself and want to thank Mrs Fabray. It's just not right.

My dads have been to see Quinn a few times. My Daddy even has lunch with her while he's at the hospital, which is equal parts cute and creepy. So, it's time for me to see her and I'm terrified. Brittany tries to distract me as we make our way through the hospital towards Quinn's room, arms linked, with a story about her duck, but she eventually brings us to a stop just before we reach the room and turns me to face her.

"She's hurt pretty bad, Rach," she says quietly. "She has bruises and lots of hurts but San says she'll get better." I swallow. "She had lots more tubes before but some of them are gone now. Do you know that they put drains in people?"

Oh, God.

She gets us walking again, slower, and I use the time to calm my racing heart. Which was stupid to try at all because, the moment Quinn moves into view, my heart lurches and beats at my ribcage, bruising my bones. I freeze in the doorway and stare at the person in the bed who resembles Quinn but isn't really. It _can't_ be Quinn, because Quinn smiles and frowns and glares and _is_. This person is broken. Physically.

God, her outsides match her insides.

Taking in a shaky breath, I move into the room and sit down in the chair beside her bed. I need to sit down because I can feel myself losing my resolve. I won't cry. Not now. Not the first time I see her. The first thing she hears from me shouldn't be my tears. I reach for her hand - it's surprisingly warm - and hold it gently in my own. I've missed the feel of her. I've missed _her_.

I _miss_ her.

I breathe out. "Hi, baby," I whisper, leaning forward and looking at her face. Her skin is discoloured from the bruising, and she has stitches on her forehead and chin. It reminds me of the disagreement with her locker. "Why do you always insist on injuring yourself?" I ask her, risking a smile. With my other hand, I trail my fingers along her forearm, enjoying the feel of her skin under my fingertips.

I look for Brittany for the first time, but she's not even in the room. She's giving me privacy.

"I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come and see you," I whisper. I can only look at her face and her arm. I can't take in anything else. I can't handle it. "I didn't think you'd want to see me, given the way we left things. I'm sorry I was so... whatever I was. I do think we needed to talk about it, but not the way we did, and definitely not at the time we did. I should have brought it up a while ago because I've been dealing with it for a while now. I've spent the past few days trying to come to terms with the fact that we _do_ have different languages of love. I need attention and assurance, and you need - " I falter. "I suppose you need _love_. In all its forms. Because you get it from nowhere else.

"Ian, your handsome firefighter, fulfilled his promise and told me what you asked him to tell me," I inform her. "It's heartbreaking and wonderful, and I need you to wake up and tell me yourself. I need to hear you say the words. I just want to hear your voice again. I mean, we still have to sing our duet, Quinn. After all of this, I think you owe me that much. I already have all these choices for us, you know?"

I spend all day with Quinn, just saying words to her. I also sing quietly a few times. Other people visit her in the afternoon, most notably Finn. He looks as surprised to see me as I am to see him, and the two of us sit awkwardly for the longest time before he leaves again. My Daddy brings me lunch, and he and I share a rather silent meal with my sleeping blonde, absently discussing everything Quinn. He loves her, that much is obvious, and he and my Dad were beyond devastated to learn of the extent of Quinn's injuries. My Daddy pored over her chart until his eyes were red, and then he disappeared into his bedroom with my Dad, and it was enough to tell me that Quinn _definitely_ could have died. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop fixating on the idea that the last thing I said to her was that I didn't want to see her until she figured things out.

And she was trying to do just that when she got into the accident.

Quinn's doctors and nurses come in from time to time, assessing her vitals and checking her chart and asking questions. They always glance at our clasped hands but I'm beyond caring what they think. We're friends, best friends, girlfriends. It doesn't matter. I love her and I don't care who knows it. Okay... I do, but I also don't.

In the evening, my Daddy comes to check on me, bringing me some dinner and asking if I'm headed home any time soon.

I'm not.

In fact, I don't go home at all. I just sit at Quinn's side: waiting, hoping and praying to all the many gods of all the religions of the world that she'll open her eyes and I'll get to bask in the beautiful hazel green once again. I fall asleep at some point, dropping my head onto her bed and dreaming about Quinn trapped in crushed metal and surrounded my shattered glass, eyes wide and fearful and _alone_.

I wake with a start, my back straightening in a sudden jerk. One look at the clock on the wall tells me it's just after six o'clock in the morning. If I'm going to go to school - which I'm not - I should probably get going. I sigh heavily, squeeze Quinn's hand once, and then visit the bathroom. I know the doctors will do their rounds at seven o'clock, but there doesn't seem to be a change in Quinn since last night. I study her form when I get back to her side, my fingers interlaced with hers. She's so _still_ , and Quinn isn't still to me. She's lively and vibrant and full of life. She's _happy_. She makes _me_ happy. She makes -

"Hey," Santana says, interrupting my musing as she enters Quinn's room. "Have you been here all night?"

I blink away my sudden tiredness. "I couldn't sleep, so I just sat up and watched her," I say, fighting a yawn. "I look at her and I keep thinking I'm the one who can't wake up. Like, it's all some kind of dream."

"It's not a dream, Berry," she says, moving to sit in the chair on the other side of Quinn's bed.

"Then it's some kind of punishment," I say.

"For what?"

I sigh. "I heard Mrs Fabray talking on the phone to Frannie," I tell her. "She may or may not have called Quinn's accident God's way of showing her that her current path is not okay with Him."

Santana frowns. "What the fuck?"

"That, this accident is punishment for her indiscretions," I continue. "Punishment for Beth and punishment for me."

"What a sick, twisted family," she hisses. "Quinn was in a fucking _car accident_. God didn't smite her because she deigned to love another woman." She looks at me. "Don't listen to any of that bullshit, Berry. If this is in any way your fault, then it's mine too, because I've been friends with her for years, and I've loved women for longer than that. So, if loving you did this, then I did this too."

I shake my head, absently wiping at my tears. "Gosh, you'd think I'd stop crying by now."

"It's okay to cry, you know? We all miss her."

"This is the longest we've gone without talking since we started this whole thing," I tell her.

"It's been four days, Berry," Santana says, laughing lightly. "Gosh, new relationships are just the cutest, aren't they?"

I blush. "It's weird, you know? When we, uh, tried to celebrate our one-month, it was like a shock to the system that it was only _one_ month," I tell her. "It feels like we've been together forever."

Santana smiles at me. "If you tell anyone what I'm about to say; I'll deny it to my last breath," she says; "but I truly do believe that you and Quinn _will_ be together forever."

I return her smile. "Like you and Britt."

She shrugs. "Maybe," she says, somewhat noncommittally. "We're all going to be tog - "

The sound of my gasp stops her, and my eyes widen as Quinn shifts in bed. Santana stands immediately, and we both watch as Quinn's eyes flutter once, twice, and then snap open in panic. Her body tenses, and anguish clouds her features, forcing her eyes closed again. Her heart rate rises, and it amazes me that she's suddenly so aware. Because, the second I open my mouth to speak, everything goes still again.

"Quinn," I breathe, and her eyes open again, turning towards me, even if they're unfocused. I lean forward so I'm close enough for her to see without her glasses. "Hi," I whisper.

She looks confused for another beat, before she dazzles me with one of those faint smiles that I know is reserved for me. Lucky number seven, I guess.

"You're okay," I whisper, reaching out to run a gentle hand over her hair. "You're okay."

Her smile falls away, and her face morphs into something serious. She looks... determined, and I shrink back slightly. I was right. She doesn't want to see me. I feel tears pool in my eyes, and I'm tempted to run. But then she's the one to open her mouth, and -

"I love you," she rasps - the first thing she says - and I run anyway.


	29. twenty-nine

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _her love was the only medicine.  
_ _the only medicine that ever worked.  
_ _and this is why she left.  
_ _she wanted yours to work. too._

 _._

"I swear, if you rip your stitches, I'm going to kick you hard enough to send your skinny ass back to the hospital."

I let out a light laugh as I turn my head to look at Santana coming up behind me. "I'm just looking for a pair of socks," I tell her, all innocence. "My feet are cold."

Santana clucks her tongue. "I don't care," she says, eyeing the glasses perched on my face appreciatively. I've never truly understood the fascination but, between Rachel and Santana, they must look appealing. I just can't be bothered with contacts right now. "Get back into bed," she says. "I'll get your stupid socks."

I huff in both annoyance and relief, as I shuffle back to my bed. I've been home for exactly six hours and fifteen minutes, and I've been asleep for five of them. I'm terribly exhausted, which is expected but still irritating. I have so much work to catch up and my brain is fuzzy from the painkillers and the aching in my heart. Because I _am_ eighteen years old and no longer a minor, I was able to complete by hospital discharge myself, which means that my mother's presence wasn't required. So, she wasn't there, and she's not _here_ now.

In fact, Santana was the one to pick me up and she failed desperately at _not_ laughing at me being wheeled out of the hospital by a handsome porter who _looked_ at the two of us for a little too long. Santana looked tempted to break his brain by either flirting mercilessly with him or kissing me. _That_ definitely would have destroyed him. It probably would have destroyed all three of us. _And_ our respective girlfriends.

Speaking of girlfriends. Where is mine?

I climb into bed slowly, wary of my stitches and recline against my propped-up pillows. Something pulls slightly and I grimace, trying to ignore it. I take in a shaky breath, use my right arm to shift my sling, and try to relax. I want to reach for my phone and text Rachel, but the sound of Santana's gasp makes me look up. She's currently looking into my sock drawer and, just from the look on her face, I know what she's found. I'd almost forgot those where hidden in there. I'm literally such a cliche right now.

"San," I breathe, suddenly wanting to jump up and cross the room to hide the evidence of -

"What the fuck is this, Fabray?" she asks, turning her cold glare on me. She reaches into the drawer. "What are these? Quinn? Fuck, there are so many!"

I can barely look at her as she retrieves the evidence and walks towards me, looking more confused now. She clearly doesn't understand, and I don't know how to explain it. What am I supposed to say? I don't know how to explain myself. Santana drops down onto the edge of my bed near my thighs, jostling me enough to make my face contort. She ignores it. Apparently, she's too angry for sympathy right now.

"Quinn," she says, dropping the offending letters onto my lap. "I don't understand. These are - these are college letters." She frowns. "Why haven't you opened any of them?"

I don't have an answer that could possibly make sense. To her, or to me.

"Quinn?"

I shake my head. "I _can't_ open them," I say. "I just - I don't know how to bring myself to _know_. It's better not knowing if I did enough to get out of this place."

"Quinn," she says again, touching my forearm. "We both know you're going to have to open them eventually." She sighs. "Does Rachel know about these?"

"No," I say. "She knows I've applied to all sorts of schools, but I haven't told her about the letters. She just - she believes in me _so much_ , you know? And I don't want to disappoint her if these are all rejections. I mean, look at them..." I trail off, absently gesturing at the pile of letters.

She does look. "There _are_ some prestigious schools here, Q," she says, nodding her head. "Are you nervous?"

"Terrified."

"Do you want to open them together?" she offers. "I mean, just the fact that you've received _any_ letters at all means something. I'm still waiting for NYU to get their heads out of their asses and decide they want me already."

I know New York University isn't the _only_ school she applied to, but it's the one she wants _in_ to, for all her Pre-Med classes. It's part of the 'Brittana' plan. Santana and Brittany will go to NYU together, with the blonde at the Tisch School of the Arts, and they'll live happily ever after. The future. It's scary, even for them. So, of course, I'm nervous, and terrified. I had tentative plans with Finn, and then no plans after him. And now... Do I have plans with Rachel? Am I even allowed to? We should probably, definitely, talk about it.

"It's coming," I assure her. "They were just so overwhelmed by your sheer brilliance, and it's taking them a while to recover."

She laughs lightly and shakes her head. "You're a fucking idiot."

"I know," I say, suddenly solemn.

She pats my leg. "I love you, you know?"

I grin at her. "I love you, too."

She smirks. "Not nearly as much as you love Berry, apparently."

And now I'm blushing. I duck my head to hide it from her before she teases me mercilessly. Because I _do_ love Rachel, and I couldn't wait to tell her. I suppose I should have anticipated her tears. It was a miscalculation on my part, because she was borderline inconsolable after that. I fell asleep almost immediately after, and Santana had to tell me that LeRoy took Rachel home before she actually hurt herself from the force of her tears. I've seen her twice since then, and I've been hopped up on strong meds both times. I'm a little bit more lucid right now, and Rachel isn't even here.

"I didn't think I would freak her out as much as I did," I confess quietly.

"It's been tough," she says. "For _all_ of us, but especially her. She was... plagued by the fight you two had before..."

I gulp audibly.

She pats my leg again. "Quinn Fabray, you're so easy to love, but sometimes you make it very difficult."

I risk a smile. "I'm sorry."

"It helps that you're sometimes worth it," she says with a shrug, turning her attention back to the letters. "Can we open them now? I want to live vicariously through you."

I take a deep breath, stitches stretching on my left side and shift awkwardly. "We can," I say slowly.

Santana immediately shuffles through them. "Is there one you want to start with?"

"Not really," I admit. "Just, can we maybe end with Yale?"

She glances me for a surprised moment, before she sets said letter aside. "We'll start with the west coast then," she says. "Because, obviously, _I_ want you on the east coast with me and B." _And Rachel_ , though she doesn't say the words.

Stanford and Berkeley want me, but UCLA puts me on a waiting list. "How dare they?" Santana sneers, with an amused roll of her eyes. We open Princeton, Harvard and Brown next - and, once again, I score a two out of three. Santana even whistles when she refolds the Harvard letter. "I think I _might_ be okay with your being in Boston if I get to tell people my best friend goes to Harvard. Like, holy fuck. I'd get brownie points just for that."

I giggle, suddenly overwhelmed by _acceptance_. I run my right hand through my hair - it's particularly grimy because Dr Lopez told me that washing my hair is _literally_ the least of my worries. I have half a mind to ask Santana to sort it out for me because, honestly, I feel gross about it. Maybe that's why Rachel isn't here.

She lifts the last two letters we'll even consider opening. Other letters from schools that Finn could realistically get into - possibly Duke, if his football were to get him anywhere - are easily sidelined, and Santana has Columbia and Yale in each one of her hands. I'll be the first to admit I'm most nervous about these two schools. Columbia is practically on Broadway in New York, which means _Rachel_ , and Yale is... the dream I didn't even realise I had until I just did. There's just something about it that I _felt_ while I was doing my college research and every word I read and every picture I saw and every video I watched made me fall more and more in love with the future life I could have there. It was all something I had to suppress because, well, _Finn_ , but now I like to think I'm living for myself. And New Haven isn't _that_ far from New York. Eighty or so miles. I checked.

Eighty or so miles too far, apparently.

Santana opens the letter from Columbia, her face a picture of calm. She says nothing as she hands it to me and immediately opens the one from Yale. Columbia is a yes, and I realise I'm holding my breath until I see the word 'Congratulations!' on the Yale letter as well, early admissions. I'm not really sure how to feel about it. If I'm being honest, I probably would have preferred to get into only one of them, which would make the decision much easier for me. Now, I feel as if I would have to choose: Yale or... being closer to Rachel.

Santana doesn't say anything for the longest time. And, when she does speak, she doesn't comment on the last two acceptances. She probably understands my dilemma better than I do. "Do you know if your parents are paying for college?" she asks.

I grit my teeth just thinking about it. "Even if they were willing to, I don't think I'd want them to," I confess. "I have two half-scholarships in the works for Yale," I explain. "Academic and for Cheerleading."

She smiles softly. "Do you really _want_ to be a cheerleader?"

"I enjoy it," I tell her with a stiff nod. "I mean, anything can't be as bad as Sylvester, surely."

She worries her bottom lip. "Does your injury put that in jeopardy?" she asks, referring to my shoulder.

I shake my head. "It's not a terrible injury, considering," I tell her. "Given what could have happened, I should be right as rain in a few weeks."

"Good," she murmurs, before she clears her throat. "Because being the Head Bitch is fucking exhausting... I don't know how you do it, Q. Seriously."

"How _has_ it been going?"

She sighs dramatically. "Well, after Coach nearly took _my_ head off for messing with her Head Cheerio, I had to field questions a plenty," she explains. "It's like open season on questions about Quinn Fabray and her brief meeting with death."

The atmosphere turns cold quite suddenly, and we both grow sober immediately. Because I _did_ die, which is something we won't be able to ignore for much longer. Or, at all. I only learned the truth of what happened during my initial surgery a few days after I first woke up, when I overheard two nurses talking about it. I _died_ on the operating table, and the reality of that is enough to make my insides twist painfully. Unfortunately, Dr Murphy's considerable skill can't help with that.

She puts that same hand on my leg. "What happened, Q?"

I trap my bottom lip between my teeth for a beat, just thinking about it. "After Regionals, we went to her house," I tell her. "We were just going to hang out and - "

"Have sex," she comments, and I stiffen. "Or... not."

"It's kind of what we fought about," I say. "We were... kissing, and I guess I asked her why we weren't having sex yet."

She raises her eyebrows. "You're not having sex?"

"No."

"Oh."

I lick my lips. " _Anyway_ , so, I asked that question, and she asked me why I haven't told her I love her." I close my eyes at the memory. "We fought about it, and I may have told her that she deserved better; she deserved someone who wouldn't even hesitate to tell her how she feels. She deserved someone who wasn't so fucking _broken_. I - I couldn't tell her what she wanted, Santana. I just - I _couldn't_." Before I know it, I'm crying. "So, I left. I just - I left. I ran, Santana. All I do is run because I'm terrified. I'm _so_ afraid of _her_ ; of losing myself again; of having her leave me; of _everything_."

I take a shaky breath, trying to stay calm. "I called you because I needed to talk. I got in my car and called, and then you said I could come over, and I did. I was coming to you. I don't - I don't know if it's because I wasn't paying enough attention or maybe it was my tears. I don't know. It was just an intersection. A four-way. I don't remember much more than the sound of a car honking and - " I stop, closing my eyes because I can't look at her face as I tell her this lie. She - she can't know. She can't know... that I took my foot off the gas, but never hit the brakes.

"I remember the sound of the impact more than the feeling," I recall, my breathing laboured. "I remember the sound of metal and glass and plastic, and the sound of my own scream, and the - " I wipe at my eyes. "It smelt awful. Something was burning. I was - I was upside down, and I could hear the tyres spinning. Everything _hurt_. Everything was... _broken_."

Santana's hand squeezes my knee, and now there are tears in her eyes.

"I remember people," I say. "There were people talking to me and people trying to get me out and all I was thinking about was Rachel. I was concussed and in _so much_ pain, but all I was thinking about was that I hadn't told her I loved her."

"Or that you hadn't had sex yet," she comments in an attempt to offer some levity.

I cover my eyes with my right hand. "Santana," I grumble, and then I yawn.

"Tired?"

"Always," I say through another yawn. "It's really annoying."

She shakes her head. "It's just your body telling you it needs to rest and heal. Listen to it."

I rub my eyes of sleep. "I'm listening."

She helps get me situated, _finally_ helps me put on my socks, and forces me to take my meds before I eventually succumb to sleep. I think I dream, more in sounds than in pictures, and I wake to the sound of quiet giggles. My eyes flutter and clear, as I take in the blurry scene before me. Brittany and Santana are lying beside me, watching a movie on my laptop and failing to be quiet. The sounds from my dreams are still ringing in my head, harshly filling my senses. I suddenly feel panicked, and my unexpected whimper alerts them to my awake state. I can't breathe.

"Quinn," Brittany says, jumping up and running around the bed to my other side. "Breathe. Just breathe. There we go. In and out. Just, in and out."

I try to focus on her voice and the words she's saying.

"In and out. Just breathe. In. Out."

I look at her face, at her blue eyes. I breathe, in and out. I breathe, and I cry, and I want -

I choke on a sob, and Brittany wraps her arms around me. "Just breathe," she says. "In and out. There we go. Tell me what you need. Talk to me. What do you need?"

For a sudden, terrified moment, I just need my mother. I need my mommy, and she's not here. She hasn't been here, and I'm kidding myself if I think she ever will be. Because I'm not a kid anymore. I haven't been a kid in years, and I have to be stronger than this. I've always been stronger than this. I just - I need a moment to catch my breath. I need a little bit of time to get a handle on things again. I need -

"I need Rachel."

But.

Rachel doesn't visit my first night at home - Santana and Brittany spend it with me - and she doesn't come by the next night either. I try not to read too much into it because she's probably busy or tired, and this _has_ been an emotional few weeks. School is also stressful, and Mondays are generally just painful. While I need to recover physically, she has to do it in other ways as well - emotionally - and I'm choosing to respect her decision to do it alone.

It's just -

Rachel doesn't text back the way she usually does and, when Santana starts to get agitated whenever I ask after Rachel when she visits on Tuesday, I have no choice but to accept that something _is_ wrong; something neither of them is telling me. I _can_ be patient from time to time - one has to be when you live in the Fabray household - but my patience is wearing thin. The entire reason Rachel and I had the fight we had was because we didn't talk about what we were feeling, and now we're falling right back into the pattern just days after my release from the hospital.

I call her on Wednesday during her free period and get her voicemail. I practically beg Santana to drive me to see her when she visits after Glee, and I get snapped at. And then apologised to. I just - I don't understand, and why isn't anyone telling me anything? I need to know what's happening so I can fix it, but I can't fix what I don't know is broken. It's confusing and I hate that they're keeping me in the dark and I hate that I can barely stay awake for a few hours or that I can't even put on my own socks.

I spend Thursday composing messages I don't send, and even LeRoy and Hiram aren't that forthcoming about the Rachel situation, even after they ask after my well-being and Hiram tells me he misses our conversations on Literature and LeRoy says he misses his 'Little Chef.'.

So, it's after my afternoon nap that I make the decision. It's stupid, probably, but I can't just spend another night at home without knowing. I can't, and I won't, which is why I struggle into fresh sweats, force myself through putting on shoes and then leave the house. I don't have a car anymore and, even if I did, I doubt I'm going to be driving anytime soon. So, I walk. It's slow, but I appreciate the fresh air and the way my limbs burn. I suspect I must look a sight in my sling, various bandages and lingering bruises but I don't care. There's a house on Jacaranda Avenue I need to visit.

I still have a key, so I don't even bother with knocking. I just unlock the door, step inside and try to catch my breath. It doesn't work, so I just head up the stairs towards Rachel's bedroom, an odd sense that this could be the last time I make this walk washing over me. I knock once on her door, and open it, consciously holding onto the doorknob to keep myself steady and upright.

She immediately jumps up at the sight of me, stumbling slightly. She looks... tired, miserable, _something_. "Quinn?" she says, clearly surprised, and I get this weird sense of deja vu. We've been here before, that Sunday I burst into her room and told her I was ready. Somehow, I just _know_ this meeting isn't going to go the same way. We're somehow coming full circle. "What are you doing here?" she asks.

"I wanted to see you," I whisper, breathing heavily and holding my left arm with my right one. It's aching.

She moves towards me. "The doctors said you should be resting, Quinn," she says.

"I know," I whisper. "I just - I wanted to _see_ you."

She puts a hand on my uninjured shoulder and guides me to her bed so I can sit; so I can rest. I feel a little lightheaded. "Quinn, you shouldn't have come."

I shake my head. "Why - why haven't you come to see me?" I ask, my head spinning. "What's going on, Rachel? Did I do something wrong? Because I've texted and I've called, and nobody's telling me any - _ugh_."

She startles. "Quinn?"

I touch my forehead to stem the sudden pain - and panic. I'm panting now. _Jesus_ , that hurts. I slowly lie back, just wanting everything to stand still. Maybe if I close my eyes. "Ahh."

Rachel jumps up. "Quinn, hey? Quinn?" I feel her fingers on my cheeks, and then the back of her hand on my forehead. "God, you're burning up. Quinn? Hey, stay awake. Tell me what's wrong."

I grumble something unintelligible.

"Quinn? Quinn? Baby, don't do that. Quinn?" She sounds panicked. "I'm calling someone, okay? Just, just stay awake."

It's the last thing I hear before I pass out.

* * *

There are considerably less tubes and machines when I wake up this time around. In fact, I'm not even at the hospital. I'm still in Rachel's bedroom, lying on my back on her bed. Everything hurts, but I'm really more embarrassed than anything.

"Oh, good, you're awake." Rachel's voice draws my attention to my right, where she's perched on the edge of her bed, writing something in her journal. She immediately sets it aside and gives me her full attention in a way that makes me uncomfortable. She seems stiff and her eyes won't meet mine.

"How long have I been out?" I ask her, frowning at how _odd_ this all feels.

She looks... nervous. "Fifteen minutes," she tells me. "My Daddy said your fever's coming down."

My eyes flutter.

"You shouldn't have come, Quinn."

I sigh. What is this? Seriously. "What choice did I have?"

She drops her gaze.

I sit up slowly, fighting off a wave of dizziness. "I don't understand, Rachel," I say. "Something _is_ wrong and I need you to tell me what it is."

She fiddles with her hands in her lap.

"Rachel?"

"Quinn?"

"What did I do?"

"It's nothing you did."

"But it's _something_."

"I can't do this with you, Quinn," she says quietly, and it transports me to a time in my life I thought I'd done enough to forget.

I blink in confusion. "I don't - " I stop, realisation hitting me in the worst way and I make a strangled sound in my throat. Is that why she can't even look at me? "Are you - are you breaking up with me?"

"What! No!"

I flinch at the outburst, and she reaches for my hand but I pull it back.

She tries not to look hurt by my rebuff. "Quinn, I _definitely_ don't want to break up."

"But - "

"I just - I think I need us to take a break," she says, and my heart bottoms out. " _I_ need a break."

My mouth drops open. "What?"

"I thought I could this, Quinn," she says. "I _want_ to, and I know I _can_ , but..." she trails off. "I'm just so... Quinn, you almost died. _You_ almost _died_."

I am so confused.

"And the first thing you did when you woke up was tell me you loved me."

"Because I do," I tell her. "And I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you. I just had - "

"Quinn," she interrupts. "I should never have pushed you into it. I shouldn't have brought it up the way I did, and we _definitely_ shouldn't have fought about it the way we did. I should have been patient because I _know_ you, and I know how you struggle and - " she stops. "I've given this a lot of thought, and I just need some time to sort through just _how much_ I love you."

I frown. "What? Rachel, you're not making any sense."

"I just - I need time, because I'm lost in _you_ , and you almost died and I _hate_ that you did that to me," she says. "You're _in_ me Quinn. You're in my veins and I can't - I can't live without you, and I have to come to terms with that before - " she stops again. "I just, I feel _so much_ , and it terrifies me. I'm - " Nothing. "Please can we just take a break. _Please_."

Her voice _breaks_ me.

She breathes out. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm sorry I _can't_ be the one to hold you together right now."

And, just like that, I'm angry. Raging. "Is that what you think this is?" I snap. "Is that why you think I'm here? Because I'm falling apart and I just need you to fix me?"

"It can't be me who fixes you, Quinn," she says, calmly ignoring my outburst. "It can't be anyone but you."

"This is bullshit," I say, scrambling to get up off the bed and ignoring my body's protests. _Jesus Christ_ , that fucking hurts. "I'm not with you because I need you to _fix me_! I'm with you because I want to be! Because I - " I halt.

Her eyes are wide, and this is taking me back to a Friday afternoon in November when a dopey boy broke me.

"Just say what you want to say, Berry," I say. "I know I'm a fucking mess, so just tell me if you don't want me and get it over with. I'm a big girl. I can handle it."

"Quinn, that's not what I'm saying."

"Then what _are_ you saying?" I ask.

"I'm saying I'm overwhelmed," she says, and the sound of the word slices through me the way the metal of my car did not too long ago. "I'm saying I just need a break, so I can wrap my head around what it really means to be so hopelessly in love with you."

"I don't know what that means."

"And I'm clearly not explaining it well enough."

"You're not explaining it _at all_!" I yell. "What do you want from me, huh? What do you want? Because I thought I gave you what you want. I thought I made it better. I... I told you I love you. Isn't that what you want?"

"Not like that."

"I thought - " I stop. "I don't - why are - " I shake my head. I don't even know what to say right now. The world is spinning again and my heart is thundering in my chest. This isn't happening. Not again. "What the _fuck_ , Berry? I _told_ you I love you. I love you. I've been terrified out of my fucking mind for weeks because everyone I _love_ leaves me. They always leave, and you were supposed to be different. You were supposed to be - " I stop. I huff. "You know what; you're right. We _do_ need a break because I can't do this with you right now either. You have a problem with me; you _talk_ to me. You don't fucking _ignore_ me!" My tears are making my vision blurry. "Dammit, Rachel! You promised me."

She looks confused.

"The first time you called me overwhelming and I panicked, you promised me you would _tell_ me if it became too much. You _promised_! We were supposed to talk about things, but you've been ignoring me for five days! Five days I've spent wondering why my girlfriend isn't coming to visit me; thinking that I did something wrong... and you don't get to do that to me. I deserve better than that. Even _I_ know that. At least Finn had the decency to tell me to my face he didn't want me."

"Quinn - "

"Save it," I bark. "Just save it, Berry. Cut the crap. If you don't want me, just fucking tell me."

She opens her mouth but no sounds come out. There are tears in her eyes, and we both know what that means. Jesus. This was definitely not how today was supposed to go.

I instantly deflate. God, I'm exhausted. "I'll make it easy for you then," I say. "Don't worry about being sorry or feeling guilty. There doesn't have to be a grey area here. We're breaking up." I suck in a pained breath. "We're breaking up," I repeat. "You are hereby relieved of all responsibility."

"Quinn - "

"You no longer have to worry about me. You no longer have to suffer the burden of holding me together."

"Quinn - "

"You're free now, Berry," I say, my tone cold and calculated, drawing on the HBIC inside of me. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the _more_ you believed I could be. It seems I'm not good enough for anyone." And that's all I'm going to say. I don't think I can say anything else anyway. So, with one pained look, I leave as quickly as I can, needing to get away from her before I crumble. I stumble down the stairs, squeaking on the third stair and drawing attention.

"Quinn?"

I stop in my tracks when I hear Hiram's voice and turn to see him standing in the doorway to the living room. "Hiram," I breathe.

"Are you okay?"

It's obvious I'm not, so I don't bother to respond to him. I'm _definitely_ not okay. For some reason, I don't think I'll ever be.

He shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. "Let me drive you home," he says.

I want to argue. I want nothing more than to get as far away from this place and these people as quickly as I possibly can but I'm just so exhausted. So, instead, my shoulders sag and I nod my head. He jolts into action straight away, and I follow him into the garage when he has all he needs. He opens the passenger's door for me and I slide in, forcing myself not to give away just how much pain I'm in. I must fail, because he looks distraught.

I curl up in my seat, wanting to hold myself together. My head rests against the window, and my eyes close as he gets us on the road. I appreciate the fact he doesn't try to talk to me about what he probably knows just happened. Gosh, _I_ don't even know what just happened. If he can make sense of it; I'd love for him to explain it to me.

When the car comes to a stop in my driveway, I'm almost asleep. I shake my head quickly, trying to focus. I blink a few times, trying to clear my vision. "Wh - " I mumble, halfway to a panic.

Hiram places a calm hand on my forearm. "You're okay," he says gently.

I shrug his hand off. "No, I'm not," I whisper. "I'm _not_ _okay_ , Hiram. I've never been _okay_ , and I never will be, because I'm just an unlovable mess that nobody _wants_."

"Quinn, no," he says, shaking his head. "Don't say that."

"Why not?" I ask, sounding defeated. "It's true. It has to be, Hiram. What other reason is there?" I can feel myself losing control, my tears pooling in my eyes. "It's _me_ , Hiram. It's me! My parents don't want me. Finn doesn't me, and now Rachel doesn't want me, and it's only a matter of time before you and LeRoy also don't want me, because I'm _broken_. I'm unfixable."

"Quinn - "

I shake my head, hard. "I thought I was getting better," I say, growling slightly. "I wanted to _be_ better for her, Hiram. I didn't _want_ to overwhelm her. I was trying _so hard_ to be better. I wanted to be _more_ for her, and for myself. But I failed. I failed, and I'm right back where I started. Lost and confused, and alone."

"You're not alone," he's quick to say. "I told you - "

"It's okay," I interrupt, settling my racing thoughts with a deep breath. I feel calmer now. "It's okay, Hiram."

"Quinn - "

"It's okay," I say with a shake of my head. "It's okay." But it isn't, and we both know it. Nothing is okay.

He sighs, as if he's accepting he can't get through to me today. "Oh, Rachel," he murmurs under his breath; "what did you do?" But I hear him. I hear every word, and it squeezes at my heart in a way that makes it difficult to breathe. It hurts. This _hurts_ , more than anything I've ever experienced before.

In silence, I open the door and get out, feeling a bit better when my feet touch the ground.

"Quinn," he says, and I turn to look at him, schooling my features into something passive. I suspect it's a facial expression I'm going to be wearing from now on. I don't know how I'm ever expected to smile after this.

"It's okay, Hiram," I repeat. "This is expected, and it's okay. Just, take care of her, okay? I will see you and Flo on Saturday. Thank you for the lift." And, with that, I close the door, turn sharply and go into the house. I go up to my bedroom, practically crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep.

* * *

I wake to the feel of warm arms wrapped around me... from both sides. One breath tells me that Brittany and Santana are surrounding me in love and warmth, and I breathe out in content. I don't want to think about anything else right now. Just this. Just this feeling of safety. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.

Brittany's arms tighten around me. "Hi," she breathes.

I open my eyes and just about manage to look at her. "Hello."

"How are you?" she asks.

I have no response for her because I'm trying desperately not to think about what I'm feeling. Everything that's happened today feels like it happened to someone else entirely. Like, it was part of a horrible _Lifetime_ movie that doesn't have a happy ending.

I clear my throat. "What are you doing here?"

"R called," Brittany tells me, and my heart lurches.

"Oh."

Santana sighs. "What were you thinking, fucking _walking_ to see her?" she asks. "You just got out of the hospital, Quinn. What were you trying to do?"

"What choice did I have?" I ask, completely and utterly defeated. "I had to see her, San, and she wasn't coming here and nobody was taking me there," I grind out. "I had to do it alone, because I'm alone."

Santana growls. "Don't fucking say that."

Brittany kisses my temple. "Q, you're not alone," she whispers. "You have us."

I close my eyes, unwanted tears pooling behind my eyelids. "But you're just going to leave me too."

"Quinn," Santana breathes. "Please, please just stop."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I just - I hate this. I _hate_ feeling like this."

"I don't like the word 'hate,'" Brittany says.

"I love it," Santana says, and I let out an unexpected laugh.

"I love you guys," I say.

"We love you," Brittany says. "And we're not going anywhere, I promise. You have us for life."

"Even if I end up going to Yale?"

Santana tenses at my side, but she says nothing.

Brittany frowns at me, looking confused about my question. "Even then," she says anyway.

I turn my head. "San?"

"Yeah, whatever, Fabray," she mutters. "And you better not be making this decision for Berry."

I flinch, despite myself. "I'm not," I say. "I'm definitely not." I take a breath. "This one, I'm definitely making for myself."

"How far is it from New York?" Santana asks.

"Eighty miles, give or take."

"And you just just know that...?"

"I do, yeah," I say. "I'm amazing at Geography; didn't you know?"

"Such a fucking idiot."

"You _are_ amazing at Geography," Brittany says. "I get lost all the time."

"We'll help you find your way, Britt," I whisper.

"Good."

We fall into silence, each of us lost in thought. It takes only five minutes for my stomach to grumble, which makes us all giggle.

"Dinner time?" Santana asks.

I nod. "And then shower time."

"I am not helping you with that," Santana says immediately, and we all giggle again.

"I don't know, San; I _really_ need to wash my hair," I say, sighing.

Brittany hums in acknowledgement.

"Hey," Santana says, making me look at her. "I have an idea."

"Oh, boy," I murmur.

She grins in mischief. "Do you remember that one time I suggested we get you a haircut?"

I nod, my brow furrowed.

She leans in close, not allowing me to look away for a moment. "Now that you won't be tumbling with the Cheerios for a while and Sylvester _probably_ won't burst an aneurysm if we mess with her favourite Head Bitch, do you think you're up for it?"

I blink. A haircut? "Uh... really?"

"Really."

"Right now?"

"I can call Tony," she says. "I'm certain he'll be more than happy to do it. I think he'll even come here."

I wait, thinking.

"Q?"

Slowly, a smile spreads across my face. "Okay."

* * *

Santana calls me during her lunch period on Friday and tells me to get dressed into something nice, and that she's coming to pick me up straight after she gets out of school. She doesn't even allow me to ask any questions before she hangs up. I don't really care. I just want to get out of the house, even if I have to put on actual clothes.

Something nice? Hmm. I go into my closet and pick out a blue, black and white striped dress, a burgundy blazer and black ballet flats. I stare wistfully at a pair of Oxford wedges, just knowing that it would hurt my healing ribs too much to wear them. I pick the blazer to hide the bandages on my shoulder, as well as my sling. It's difficult doing things with one hand, but I'm just relieved it's my right arm that's uninjured. Regardless, it takes me the better part of two hours to shower, get dressed, do my makeup and _handle_ my hair. It's going to take some getting used to, definitely, but I appreciate how short it is right now. I wouldn't be able to put it up anyway.

I was worried. It's a big change, and I've gone back and forth over whether I regret it or not. It's _short_. But it's still long enough to tie into the tiniest of ponytails, so Coach Sylvester won't throw a complete tantrum, even though it'll probably grow to a suitable length by the time I'm healed enough to resume my position on the squad. She doesn't like aesthetic changes to her prized Cheerios, but I manage to accept that I needed it. I know that _now_. It makes me feel like _more_ , and I wish I'd listened to Santana sooner. I won't tell her, though, because she'd get way too much satisfaction out of it. I haven't completely lost it. Yet.

I have a chicken salad for lunch that Santana made sure she put in the fridge for me because she was worried I wasn't eating properly, particularly when I'm in recovery. I also have to make sure I eat enough to take my medication. I force down as much as I can, take my meds and take a nap on the couch until Santana arrives. She's surprisingly gentle when she wakes me, and then we're going.

"Where are we going?" I ask as she helps me with my seatbelt.

"It's a surprise," she says, and I don't question her further. "How was _your_ day?" she asks, and there's such concern in her voice that tears pool in my eyes. I hate being so damn emotional.

"I slept in," I say, letting out a small laugh. "I _never_ do that."

She smirks at me. "Lucky bitch."

I tuck some hair behind my ear, unsure why I'm blushing.

"I know I've already said it, but I really like the hair, Fabray," she says. "Honestly, I think it's the best decision you've ever made."

I touch my hair again. "I think it is too."

She takes a breath. "And... the other thing?"

"The other thing," I echo.

She hums. "Hmm."

"Are you referring to the fact I'm single for the second time in five months?"

Santana scowls. "Quinn."

"I'm trying not to think about it," I say. "Or _feel_ it."

"But you _will_ , right?"

I nod. "I think going to church will definitely help."

She smiles knowingly, and we drive the rest of the way in silence. There isn't even music playing. It makes me fidgety but I force myself to sit still. My mother would be so proud. Hah.

When we get to McKinley, I turn to Santana with a frown. "San? What are we doing here?"

She pulls into a parking spot and turns off the engine. "We're going to Glee."

My heart rate rises. "What? No! No!"

"It's going to be okay," she says. "This has been planned all week, Quinn. It's nothing to do with Berry."

I flinch at the sound of her name and, if Santana notices, she doesn't mention it. "I hate you," I grumble.

She grins at me, moving to open her door. "You love me."

I follow. "I do. I really do."


	30. thirty

**Chapter Thirty**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _i cannot see you anymore.  
_ _your smile. your legs. your heat. is lonely.  
_ _the honey, grandmother said, is for your blood.  
_ _it is to bring you back._

 _._

Admittedly, my jaw isn't the only one that drops when Quinn walks into the choir room behind Santana. I don't know if it's because I didn't know she was coming in, or if it's actually the sight of her. It's been a torturous twenty hours since she stormed out of my bedroom, and I don't even know how I've managed to get through this day without completely losing it. This entire week has been painful, but the hurtful glare I received from Santana this morning was second to everything that happened with Quinn yesterday. I don't even know how everything got so out of control but it did, and now we're broken up.

Oh, _God_.

But Quinn is here, looking all kinds of prim perfection, and tears immediately spring to my eyes. She's _here_ , and I just missed her so much. _So much_. Just the sight of her is enough to get my heart racing. Just knowing that she's standing there; that she even came, is enough to -

Wait. Oh, my God. Her hair.

"Damn, girl," Mercedes says appreciatively. "Looking good, Quinn."

She nervously touches her hair, a small smile playing on her lips. "Do you really think so?" she asks, blushing.

"Oh yeah," Kurt says, nodding his head appreciatively. "What made you do it?"

She shrugs slightly, her eyes solely on Kurt. She hasn't looked in my direction even once and, for some reason, I don't expect her to. "Just needed a little change," she says. "Or, a big one, I suppose."

"I like it," Finn says, and my fists clench.

Quinn is still blushing. "Thank you, guys," she says, all shy and _Quinn_. Then: "Now, does someone want to tell me what I'm doing here?" she asks, the shyness gone and replaced by a slightly playful expression as she regards Santana. "This one woke me up from a very important nap, so this better be good."

There'a bit of laughter, and Santana's smile is real and true as she looks at Quinn; as if she's just so relieved that her best friend is standing next to her, still alive and breathing and cracking jokes as if nothing of significance just happened in all our lives.

Finn gets up then, and moves a single chair to the floor, just in front of the first row. "Quinn," he says, his voice quiet and pained, and she looks at him, surprised.

"Finn." She says his name as both a statement and a question, acknowledging all he's trying to convey in that one word.

He gestures at the chair. "Please, come sit," he says. "We have a little something for you."

She glances nervously at Santana, who just smiles in encouragement. "It's okay," she says quietly, putting a hand on Quinn's right shoulder and guiding her to the chair. "It was, uh, Finn's idea, actually."

"Oh?"

I look at Finn, wondering why _I_ wasn't told about any of this. I mean, I can understand why Santana wouldn't tell me. She's been very clear about what she thinks of me and my actions since the day Quinn woke up and I panicked.

Finn doesn't look my way, and I realise for the first time that he didn't tell me on purpose. I don't quite know what to feel about that, or what that means. Why? What does he know? The hurt I should feel just gets piled onto the top of the mountain because I'm still trying - and failing - to come to terms with the fact that Quinn and I broke up... yesterday.

Was it only yesterday?

Quinn takes a moment to settle in her seat and, even though I can't see her face right now, I can tell it hurts her to sit upright. Santana's solemn expression and Finn's anguished look help me with that conclusion. It seems to jerk them into motion, and they move into various positions as Blaine and Brittany join them in front.

"We don't want to take up too much of your time," Finn says, casual and genuine, and I find I'm a little jealous of him right now, in the sense that he's able to look at her and talk to her without completely falling apart at the idea that this world could and should and would have lost her. If it weren't for a certain, unnamed SUV and Mrs Fabray's insistence that Quinn project a new image... which, ultimately, ties back to me, I suppose.

Finn moves to sit in the chair just behind Quinn and a little to her right. He places a hand on her right shoulder, braving touching her, and it irritates me that she doesn't immediately shrug it off. Instead, she looks over her shoulder at him, looking slightly confused for a beat before she offers him a forced smile.

Santana clears her throat, and Quinn looks forward again, Finn's hand falling away. "I hope you remember what we discussed," Santana says, her eyes boring into the sitting blonde as she sits on a stool and moves a guitar into position. I've always loved how musical our Glee Club truly is, and I'm about to bear witness to another heartfelt masterpiece; I just know it. Santana starts to play, and Blaine opens the singing of _I Won't Give Up_ by Rascal Flatts.

" _It's like a storm that cuts a path. It breaks your will. It feels like that. You think you're lost, but you're not lost on your own. You're not alone_."

Well, oh.

All three of them start singing together, and it's honestly one of the greatest sounds I've ever heard. Perhaps, it helps that the three of them are the only ones who know about Quinn's and my relationship besides me. They also probably know about its end. " _I will stand by you. I will help you through. When you've done all you can do, and you can't cope; I will dry your eyes, I will fight your fight, I will hold you tight, and I won't let go_."

It's Brittany's turn next, and her voice is soft. " _It hurts my heart to see you cry. I know it's dark, this part of life. Oh, it finds us all, and we're too small to stop the rain. Oh, but when it rains..._ "

The chorus is sung together again, and I close my eyes. " _I will stand by you. I will help you through. When you've done all you can do, and you can't cope; I will dry your eyes, I will fight your fight, I will hold you tight, and I won't let you fall_."

Santana picks it up, her eyes never straying from Quinn. " _Don't be afraid to fall. I'm right here to catch you. I won't let you down. It won't get you down. You're gonna make it. Yeah, I know you can make it, 'cause I will stand by you_."

And together, the sound fills the room and this is the perfect song. It truly is. " _I will help you through. When you've done all you can do, and you can't cope, and I will dry your eyes. I will fight your fight. I will hold you tight, and I won't let go. Oh, I'm gonna hold you, and I won't let go_."

Santana takes the last lines, all serious and determined. It's as if she needs Quinn to know. " _Won't let you go. No, I won't_."

When it ends, Quinn is in tears. She makes to stand, but Santana, Brittany and Blaine move towards her instead and bury her in a hug that lasts almost a full minute. They whisper words to her, and Brittany is the one to wipe Quinn's cheeks of tears.

"I love you, Q," she whispers, and Quinn returns the sentiment with absolutely no hesitance. She's sure of her love for Brittany, and she says the words freely, her face sporting what must be the number three - Brittany - smile. I feel a flash of jealousy that I have to suppress. Is Quinn not sure of _me_?

As Blaine, Santana and Brittany take their seats, Finn stands, followed by Noah and Sam... all of whom have varying degrees of crushes on Quinn Fabray. I shift in my seat, suddenly uneasy. Finn excluded me from this little songfest for a reason. What does he know?

Noah moves into the centre of the floor and smiles widely at Quinn. "This is just to tell you that we're here for you," he explains, and Quinn bobs her head in both understanding and agreement. I sigh, just as the first bars of Charlie Puth's _One Call Away_ begin.

" _I'm only one call away. I'll be there to save the day. Superman got nothing on me. I'm only one call away_ ," Sam sings, and I can't help my smile. His happiness can be infectious. " _Call me, baby, if you need a friend. I just wanna give you love. Come on, come on, come on. Reaching out to you, so take a chance_."

They sing together, their baritones and altos fitting well. " _No matter where you go, you know you're not alone_."

Noah picks up the next words, and his gaze holds such meaning that even I'm taken aback. " _I'm only one call away. I'll be there to save the day. Superman got nothing on me. I'm only one call away_." He lifts his hand to his ear to make a phone sign with his thumb and pinkie, and Quinn lets out a giggle. " _Come along with me and don't be scared. I just wanna set you free. Come on, come on, come on. You and me can make it anywhere. For now, we can stay here for a while, ay, 'cause you know, I just wanna see you smile_."

Again, they sing the lines together. " _No matter where you go. You know you're not alone_."

And then there's Finn, who's looking at Quinn the way he used to when they were still together. It makes my heart twist painfully, because now she's free to look back at him the same way, if she so wishes. " _I'm only one call away. I'll be there to save the day. Superman got nothing on me. I'm only one call away... And when you're weak, I'll be strong. I'm gonna keep holding on. Now, don't you worry, it won't be long, Darling. And when you feel like hope is gone. Just run into my arms_." He spreads his arms wide, and Quinn giggles at his idiocy, merely spurring him on.

The three of them continue together, and I try not to read too much into the way Quinn is smiling at Finn, and Noah, and Sam. _Jesus_. " _I'm only one call away. I'll be there to save the day. Superman got nothing on me. I'm only one, I'm only one call away. I'll be there to save the day. Superman got nothing on me. I'm only one call away_."

Finn finishes the song solo, and gets down on one knee in front of Quinn. " _I'm only one call away_." For a terrifying moment, I'm afraid he's going to propose, but then he just takes hold of her right hand and holds it gently between both of his own. He whispers words to her that I can't hear, and Quinn nods, prompting Finn to stand and hug her. Noah and Sam also bend to hug her, and she murmurs thank yous to them.

It's just a carousel of songs, apparently, and it hurts. All of it, it just _hurts_. Artie, Mike and Joe sing a rendition of Stevie Wonder's _Don't Worry About a Thing_ , and Quinn smiles happily, her foot tapping along to the music. When Mercedes, Kurt and Tina sing _You'll Never Walk Alone_ , the Josh Groban version, Quinn cries again. There's also Michael Jackson's _You Are Not Alone_ by both Blaine and Kurt, and another Finn and Noah tribute of _I'll Be There For You_ by Bon Jovi. It's all so much, but I just sit there and listen because Quinn is right here. She's sitting in front of me, alive and breathing and _smiling_.

But the songs keep going and I hate that I wasn't at least _told_ that we'd be singing encouraging songs to Quinn. I don't know if I would have sung, but I still would have liked to know. Which is why, when Mr Schuester asks if there's another song coming, I move to stand. But -

"Don't," Brittany suddenly says, and I freeze in place. "Don't," she repeats. "Not today, Rachel."

I blink.

"You _told_ me you would help us make her happy," she says, and her blue eyes are icy cold. It's actually terrifying to see on her usually soft face. "You lied to me."

"I - " I start and stop. I _did_ lie, even though I didn't know I was lying at the time.

"So, just _don't_."

I swallow, feeling thoroughly chastised. "Okay." Truthfully, I didn't even know what I was going to say or do, or _sing_. I just wanted to make sure she knows I love her. Even if we're whatever we are right now. Friends, best friends, _ex_ -girlfriends. I just love her.

So, with the last of the songs sung, I sit back and watch as Quinn slowly gets to her feet with Santana's help and they move to the centre of the floor and face us. Quinn's smile is huge and genuine, and she looks deeply emotional as she stands there and takes us all in. Well, takes _them_ all in. I suppose it helps her that I'm sitting alone in the corner. I'm easier to avoid this way.

"Wow," Quinn says. "I don't even know what to say."

"A 'thank you' would be nice," Santana pipes up from beside her, standing close enough to Quinn to prop her up with a casual arm around the blonde's waist.

Quinn rolls her eyes in jest. Though, when she does speak, she sounds deathly serious. "Thank you," she says. "Truly, thank you, for all the well wishes and the cards and the flowers." She smiles gently. "And, thank you for the chocolate, Puck. My figure definitely appreciates it."

There's a small chuckle from the room, and Noah lets out a _whoop_.

Quinn continues seamlessly. "Thank you for all your care and all your thoughts and prayers and all your visits." She pauses, and I feel my heart constrict. "It's - it's been a difficult few weeks, and this Glee Club has really shown me what family truly is - " she stops on a sob, and Santana squeezes her waist. "Just, thank you."

Brittany rises to her feet and moves to stand on Quinn's other side. "Tell them your news," she says.

Quinn looks like a deer caught in headlights, and her gaze flicks my way for the first time. Her hazel eyes are conflicted, full of pain and confusion, and I gasp softly. _Quinn_. "Uh..."

Brittany just smiles at her. "Go on," she says. "It's something to be proud of."

Quinn takes a breath, her eyes facing forward again. When she smiles, it's bashful, and she looks beautifully embarrassed, her cheeks turning pink. "I - " she hesitates, scrunching her eyes in the most adorable way. "I got into Yale."

Mr Schuester practically leaps out of his seat, and Mercedes' mouth drops open. People start clapping and whooping, and _everything hurts_.

"That's amazing!" Mr Schuester says, clapping loudly and beaming at her like he's a proud father. "After everything you've been through, you really deserve this, Quinn."

She smiles fondly at him, and she hasn't looked at me again.

"We are so proud of you, Quinn," Mercedes says.

Quinn wipes at her eyes. "I also wanted to thank you guys for this," she says, glancing left and right at Brittany and Santana to include them; "because, without each and every one of you, this would have never happened." She's crying fully now. "I know I haven't always been the easiest person to deal with, but you've supported me and loved me through all the drama, and that's why I'm standing here. I wasted so much time hiding myself for all the mistakes I've made, for all the damage my family has done but, the truth is that, without all of those, I never would have dreamed this to be my future." She looks at me. Truly, looks at me, her eyes meeting mine in a significant way. She's talking directly to me now. "It took _you_ to realise I was the only one standing in the way of myself," she says, and I look away. "I suppose I now know you can't change your past, but you can let go and start your future."

There's more applause, and people jump up to hug her - Santana warns them to be gentle - but I can't bring myself to move. Evidently, neither can Finn. He just looks shellshocked. I am, too. Quinn got into Yale. Quinn is going to Yale. Yale is in New Haven. Which is not in New York.

I can't breathe. I want to say so many things. I _have_ to say something, but I can't. It's nothing to do with the look Brittany shoots me. It just makes me think that maybe Finn didn't have anything to do with freezing me out of the songs. If it _was_ Brittany, then I know I've royally screwed up. Brittany is as kind and forgiving as the Pope, and if I've wronged _her_ , then...

"We should celebrate," Noah says. "We should have a party. Tonight. At my house."

Quinn shakes her head, and Santana is the one to explain. "Not tonight, Puck," she says. "Let's get our blondie here back to full health, and then we can throw her the biggest celebration bash this town has ever seen."

Noah looks at Quinn, notices the weariness in her eyes and limbs, and nods his head. "But soon, right?"

Quinn nods, a forced smile on her face. "Definitely, Puck."

Mr Schuester dismisses us, hugging Quinn gently and congratulating her again. People start to shuffle out, but I stay in my seat, fidgeting. What am I supposed to do now? What am I even doing? What _was_ I doing? I mean, my dads could barely look at me this morning, and seeing my reflection in the mirror felt as if I was seeing a stranger. I have no idea what I'm doing. How do I even fix this? Would she even let me?

Quinn is led out of the room by Brittany, but she looks back at me. Her smile is faint - it's my smile - and her eyes are understanding. It makes me feel sick and angry and so many things I don't even understand. Just from that look alone, I know she's understood _my_ reaction to all that's happened better than I have. It's amazing what a day makes. I just stare back at her, and then she turns away, and I do my level-best not to break down and cry right here.

When the choir room is empty of students and teacher, I rise to my feet and move towards the piano. "Hey, Brad," I say, getting the pianist's attention. "Do you think you could please stick around for one more song?"

Technically, the allotted time for Glee isn't done yet, so he kind of _has_ to stay, but I ask anyway. I'm nothing if not polite. Maybe he senses something in my eyes or in my face or voice because he nods once, and then the musicians are moving back into position. I was tempted to disappear into the auditorium, but I doubt it will remind me any less of Quinn than the choir room. She's everywhere. All I know is I desperately need to sing my feelings. Maybe I can make sense of them this way.

"Whenever you're ready," Brad says, and it takes me an obscenely long time to nod my head.

The music starts immediately, the first bars of Jamie Lawson's _Miracle of Love_ filling the room and my head and heart. I open my mouth, take in a shaky breath, and then start to sing, hoping for clarity.

" _You had a burden, I couldn't cure. I wasn't certain, I wasn't sure. I didn't know what I should do to help you feel better about you_." I take another, deeper breath. " _You were the whisper in my heart; the breath they took away, the answer to my prayer. I prayed for every day. You were the understanding. Life's hard and it is rough. The falling and the landing in this miracle of love, and I wish you could've seen you the way that I do. The way that I do_."

I clutch at my chest because it hurts, just as the guitar picks up. " _But you never could escape it. Those demons that you have; that smile, you couldn't fake it. At least, no way that I could tell, and it's so hard to crawl out from under a rock as heavy as it was. But I hope you know I loved you. I hope you understood because..._ " Suddenly, there are tears pooling in my eyes, and my heart is beating to the sound of the drumbeat. " _You were the whisper in my heart; the breath they took away, the answer to my prayer. I prayed for every day. You were the understanding. Life's hard and it is rough. The falling and the landing in this miracle of love, and I wish you could've seen you the way that I do. The way that I do_.

" _Oh, and you were always my beautiful one, hey yeah. Oh, and you were always my beautiful one. Go gently from me now, gently from me now, beautiful one_." I step back and _breathe_. I just breathe, feeling the music wrap around me. " _If there is any consolation... If there is any good in this at all... It is an honour to have known you; to be the one that you could call..._ "

I'm crying fully now, and why does everything have to be so confusing and difficult, when it should be easy? " _You were the whisper in my heart; the breath they took away, the answer to my prayer. I prayed for every day. You were the understanding. Life's hard and it is rough. The falling and the landing in this miracle of love. You were the last thing that I thought of before I fell asleep. The one thing I could hold on to. I guess I couldn't keep. You were the understanding. Life's hard and it is rough. You were the falling and the landing in this miracle of love_."

My breath catches on a sob and I resist the urge to cover my mouth with a hand. " _You were a miracle of love. You were a miracle of love. You were a miracle of love. You were a miracle of love. You were, and I wish you could've seen you the way that I do; the way that I do_." I finish the last note with a sob, and I bury my face in my hands. I don't want anyone to see me, which is why I run from the choir room and hide myself in a bathroom. Goodness knows I'm used to crying in bathroom stalls. I feel both heavy and light, and I'm beyond confused. I definitely didn't feel like this when Jesse and I broke up.

 _That_ breakup didn't feel temporary.

This one... this one feels as if we'll make our way back to each other, because we're Quinn and Rachel and, no matter happens, we'll always be okay. It feels like... she's just waiting for me to figure things out and come back. Oh, Quinn. I suspect she's made a call to my dads as well; it's what she does. Because she's good and kind and smart and _alive_ ; and she deserves someone who won't run from the depth of her love. Seriously. I can't be crazy for freaking out over the fact that the last thing she wanted to do in this world is tell me she loved me... because I pushed her into it, probably.

Or -

I don't even know.

It's a little later when I finally leave, first stopping by my locker to gather my books for weekend homework, and then heading out to the parking lot. It's relatively empty, but even I can't mistake the scene before me. Santana's car is parked off to the side of the lot, Santana in the driver's seat and Brittany behind her. The passenger's door is open, and Quinn stands outside... talking to Finn. Well, it looks like she's listening as _he_ talks, and I can just imagine what he's saying. She nods and shakes her head. She's not smiling. In fact, her expression is blank, which means she's masking whatever she's really feeling.

Maybe he's talking to her about Yale. Asking her about it. Finding out if she's really going to New Haven come the Fall. Determining if she's really leaving him; us; this place. I wonder how long she's known she got into Yale, and I think about the reasons she never told me. Did she not want to, or was she holding back for a completely different reason? I watch them talk as I make my way to my car, unsure about the twisted feelings inside of me. I just - I don't know who to talk to about all of this. I _know_ I should have talked to Quinn. And, maybe, my dads as well - though, they both seem a little confused about me right now, my Daddy less so than my Dad.

Which leaves me with... Blaine, I suppose, but he looks firmly in Quinn's camp at this point. Everyone is, and the only person I can talk to about this is -

\- is in Columbus.

Which is why I break into a run to my car and throw my things in the trunk. It's still daylight, and I have time. I don't really bother with calling anyone as I start the engine and do the necessary checks. I'm nothing if not careful, even in my hurried state. As I pull out, I notice Quinn and Finn and Santana and Brittany all watching my car, confusion and questions in their eyes. Well, everyone's but Quinn's. She's still understanding everything, and she's waiting, and I love her even more for it. I don't know why, but I wave at her... and she waves back. I watch her return to her conversation with Finn and, in my rearview mirror, I see him give her a hug that she returns.

* * *

Aunt Marianne is getting old. In fact, she's been getting old for more years than she'd care to mention out loud, but tonight is the first time I truly acknowledge it. It's as if I've been wearing rose-coloured glasses this entire time, and now I'm seeing clearly for the first time. I suppose it took the end of my blissful relationship with Quinn to see the world as it is. It's ugly. I mean, I always knew that, sure, but now I know for sure. It's ugly, and Aunt Marianne is getting old and I keep messing up when it comes to Quinn Fabray.

When I get to the nursing home, I find Aunt Marianne in her room. She's sitting in an armchair, looking out the window towards the green earth with a wistful expression on her face. If she's surprised by my arrival, she doesn't show it. She just smiles a small smile and invites me to sit on the stool beside her. Maybe she senses I'm here for a very specific reason because she waits patiently, expecting me to be the one to break the silence.

I am, and I do. I tell her everything, trying to explain as best I can. I don't know if I'm making any sense, but I cry when I tell her about Quinn's accident, and I sob even harder when I reveal that the last thing Quinn wanted to do on this earth is tell me that she loves me. Which is overwhelming and frightening, because Quinn _died_. She died on that table, and _I'm_ the last person she was thinking about. _That_ type of love is frightening and, even though I pushed for it, I don't know if I'm ready for it. Or, I am, and that's even scarier.

It's all just really confusing, and why does love have to exist this way?

Aunt Marianne doesn't have an answer to _that_ , but she does have words for me, and I listen very carefully. "Listen to me, Rachel," she says, her eyes dimming slightly. "Being in love is like a madness. It keeps you up at night, makes you long for a person who's right there. It makes you question everything, which is why you now have to ask yourself the most important question: are you willing to allow yourself to be so intertwined with Quinn that the very core of your existence exists _with_ her, or are you going to live your life apart from hers? Young love - _any_ love - is supposed to be like this. You're supposed to feel breathless and intoxicated and blinded and overwhelmed. It's love, Rachel. It's _love_ , of the deepest kind.

"I know this is all new to you. It's obvious. That Jesse boy didn't make you feel any of this, but Quinn does. And, it's a beautiful thing... why are you willing to throw that all away because you're afraid that there will be nothing left between you two when the lights come on? Quinn doesn't just love you in the dark; it's just when she feels it the most. From what you've told me, it's difficult for her to express her emotions verbally, and you can't expect that to change just because she managed to find and fall in love with the _one person_ capable of destroying her. People like Quinn, they need patience and they need care. They're fragile and their hearts are precious, despite the bravado they try to project.

"She let you inside, Rachel; she let you see all of her, and you ran. That part is okay, Sweetheart, but _this_ isn't. You can run, but you don't _keep on running_. You're going to have to stop and look back at what you've left behind; _whom_ you've left in the wake of your escape, and then ask yourself if all that destruction is worth giving into your fears. I haven't yet met this Quinn of yours, and I would really like to before I am no longer of this earth, so I really do hope you figure it out and fix this."

Her parting words are a reminder that everything is going to be okay, as long as I let them be. And I _want_ them to be. The only way to ensure that, though, is with Quinn. Everything is okay and everything is _better_ with Quinn. I've always known that. I just - I forgot. In the wake of the accident and the apparent depth of her love, I forgot and I panicked and I said things and she said things.

And I know what I have to do now.

The drive back to Lima goes much quicker, which is probably to do with that fact I'm driving well over the speed limit. It's dark and I'm in such a hurry that I don't care if I get pulled over by the cops. I need to see Quinn _right now_ , but her phone isn't going through. It isn't even ringing. It just goes straight to voicemail, and the sound of her message tone pulls at my heartstrings in a painful way. She sounds upbeat and hopeful... which is nothing like I feel.

When I get to Lima, I drive straight to the Fabray house. It's dark and cold and gloomy and, for some inexplicable reason, I just know that Quinn isn't inside. I call her phone again. And again and again. But, nothing.

I take a breath, switch contacts and dial Santana Lopez.

"What the fuck, Berry?" she answers on the seventh ring, her voice thick with sleep.

"Santana," I rush. "Have you heard from Quinn?"

"What?"

"Quinn," I repeat. "Her phone isn't even ringing."

Santana sounds suitably unimpressed. "Berry, seriously, what is happening right now?"

"I have to talk to Quinn right now," I hurry to say. "It can't wait. I have to talk to her _right now_."

"It's... two o'clock in the morning," she says, sounding irritated now. "What the hell? It's _two_ _o'clock!_ People are trying to sleep. Of course, Quinn isn't answering her phone; she's fucking asleep!"

"No," I say. "It's not that she's not answering it. It's not even ringing."

"Then she probably switched it off," she offers, and then sighs, grumbling something under her breath. "Berry, why is it so important that you see Quinn right now?"

I take a deep breath. I suppose I could practice my speech on Santana, try to iron out all the shaky bits to make sure I get my point across as best I can when I finally see Quinn. "Because, Santana," I say. "I need to tell her I'm sorry, and I love her and I've been so stupid because I'm terrified of how much I want to be with her, and how much I actually love her, and I never wanted to hurt her like this and I'm sorry I got all twisted in my head because of my fear of losing her and I love her. I love her _so much_ , Santana, and I'm not afraid of her love. I'm not, and I have to tell her _right now_.

"So, please, can you just tell me where Quinn is, so I can tell her? I have to tell her. She has to know that, yes, I _ran_ , but I want to come back. It's what we do. We run, and then we come back and, one day, it won't be this difficult for us to stay and be together. I just - she has to know. I need her to know, and I know it's late. Or early, whatever. But this can't wait. I can't go another second without making sure she knows that I don't feel the weight of responsibility, I don't think she's a burden and I don't care if I'm the one who holds her together, because she's the one who holds _me_ together without even having to do anything, and I love her. I am so desperately in love with her and I'm not going to let the fear of just what that means stop me from being with her."

Silence. I'm met with silence.

"Santana?"

The Latina sighs. "Did you hear that, Q?" she asks, but she's not talking to me, and my heart lurches in my chest. Wait. What?

"I did." That's Quinn. That's Quinn. Oh, my God. That's _Quinn_.

"Do you have something to say?" Santana asks, her voice muffled.

"Plenty," Quinn replies.

"Hear that, Berry?" Santana says, clearer, to me. "Get your ass to my house. I'll open the door for you." And then she hangs up.

I'm stunned, frozen in place for a full minute. And then I'm driving, my mind focused on my destination. I'm not surprised that Quinn is at Santana's house, or that they're in the same bed at two o'clock in the morning. What _is_ surprising is the fact that Santana invited me over, and Quinn let her. I mean, it's obvious I messed up, and Santana was livid, sure, but also patient. She was frustrated that it was taking me so long to figure things out, and then Quinn appeared in my bedroom and things spiralled right out of control.

When I get to Santana's house, I'm exhausted. Driving to and from Columbus was tiring, and I'm hoping I don't make a fool of myself in front of Quinn. I have a terrifying thought that I'll just end up dropping to my knees in front of her and begging her to take me back. It's borderline pathetic, I know, but I'm willing to do everything imaginable to explain myself to her and make her see reason.

The front light is on, and I try to control my breathing enough to walk towards the front door and push it open. The house is dark, save for light coming from the kitchen. I close the door behind me and lock it, hearing it click loud enough to draw attention. Because, then, the kitchen light switches off, and Quinn emerges with a glass of water in her right hand, her left arm in a sling and an unreadable expression on her face. She's in pyjamas that hang off her lithe body, bright blue in colour. Her cropped hair is a perfect mess because she's obviously been sleeping, and she's wearing her glasses.

We just stare at each other for the longest time before Quinn hands me the water. I take it from her, frowning in confusion. "I have only one hand right now," she explains. "And I want to use it to hold one of yours."

With practiced ease, I slide my hand into her outstretched one, feeling grounded at once, and she leads us up the stairs to what is _our_ room in Santana's house. Her movements are slow, laboured, and she shuffles her feet as if lifting them too high hurts her. I imagine lots of things hurt, but she's been so brave, and I want to kick myself for my actions - they obviously haven't helped with her recovery. The mind and body have to work together.

When we get to the room, Quinn goes straight inside, closes the door and climbs into bed. She tries her level best to mask the pain of moving, but I see it... which means it must be bad. She wouldn't show me her pain if it wasn't borderline unbearable. I help her get situated, propping pillows up behind her back to help her recline to ease the pressure on her healing ribs. She gives me a small, grateful smile, and breathes out. She pats the bed beside her, which gets me moving. I kick off my shoes, slip off my jacket and loosen my hair before I slide in beside her. I hesitate. I want to touch her but I don't want to hurt her.

Sensing my unease, Quinn reaches for my hand and places it in a safe position, below her rib cage and over the bandage nearest her kidneys. Because she still has two... for now, at least. Next, she guides my head down to her uninjured shoulder and I rest it there, taking in the opportunity to breathe in her familiar scent and soak up her warmth. I've missed her something terrible, and I just never want to let go of her. I won't. Never again. I'm done running.

I just hope she is as well.

"Quinn - " I start.

"Not tonight," she interrupts. "Not now."

"Okay," I whisper, and I feel her fingers on my forearm, lightly tracing lines on my skin. "I missed you," I find myself saying. I can't hold it in, and I need her to know.

She doesn't respond for a good few minutes, and her movements still until I'm sure she's fallen asleep. But then she speaks, and my heart skips a beat. "Rachel?"

I risk a loose squeeze of her waist, humming into the column of her throat. "Hmm?"

"I love you," she whispers.

My response, though automatic, is accompanied by a sense of panic I was _sure_ I'd curbed. "I love you, too."

She breathes out, as if in relief. "I'm glad you're here," she says quietly. " _And,_ I'm coming to think breaking up for one day is starting to become a staple of all my long-term relationships."

Despite myself, I laugh lightly and lift my head to look at her face. "Do you really think we're going to be a long-term relationship?"

She nods without hesitation. "I'd even go so far as to say we'll be together for forever."


	31. thirty-one

**Chapter Thirty-One**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _if you show someone the sun in your bones and they reject you,  
_ _you must remember.  
_ _they hurt themselves this very same way._

 _._

Rachel is playing with my hair when I open my eyes. Her fingers are gentle, featherlight and, if I weren't in uncomfortable pain, I would probably enjoy the feeling of her touches through the strands of my hair. But I _am_ uncomfortable, and I'm _not_ enjoying it. As a result, I shift positions, a grimace sliding onto my face, and her idle playing immediately stops.

"Quinn," she whispers, the tips of her fingers gently touching my skin.

I let out a shaky breath, gritting my teeth.

"Oh, baby, are you in pain?"

With my eyes still closed, I just about manage a nod.

"What can I do?"

"Get Santana," I whisper.

She sucks in a small breath - maybe in surprise - and then the bed is shifting, and Rachel is going. I keep my eyes tightly shut as my body adjusts to the fact I'm no longer asleep and I was sleeping stiffly. My chest feels tight and my stitches are pulling as I shift and _heal_. I even itch in places. When I hear footsteps again, my body tenses. I can tell it's Santana from the sound of her movement and her breathing.

"You're lucky Berry caught me," she grumbles, faking annoyance. "Britt and I were on our way out of here to head to a practice that _I_ have to lead because you _had_ to get yourself almost killed."

I don't react. I wasn't exactly aiming for 'almost.'

Santana sighs. "Okay, open up."

My eyes open.

"Your mouth, you idiot."

I automatically smile.

"You're lucky you're so cute," she says, rolling her eyes. "Now, open up."

My mouth opens, and she pops a tablet into it. It doesn't taste all that nice, but I swallow dutifully when she tips a glass of water against my lips. I grimace at the temperature. I'm pretty sure it's a rule that water shouldn't be allowed to be that cold.

"Unfortunately, you have to have some food in your system before you can take your other meds," she says. "My mom will take care of you, okay?"

I just nod.

"And Berry, I guess," she adds a moment later, and something flashes in her eyes that I don't recognise. I suppose we're _all_ going to be doing a lot of talking in the upcoming days. "Just, take it easy today, okay? Be lazy and needy and try not to do anything crazy, okay?"

"Okay," I murmur.

She leans forward and kisses my forehead. "I love you, you know?"

"I love you, too," I whisper, and then she's gone. I settle into the mattress, trying to ignore the pain. My eyes slip shut and my heart beats at a rapid pace. I don't really know how to be lazy and needy, and I just want it all to go away. I want to skip this part, and just get to the point where everything is better and nothing hurts anymore. Does such a point even exist for me?

When Santana's mother arrives, she forces me to sit up and eat something, consisting mainly of fruit and buttered toast. I don't think I could stomach much else regardless. And then, mercifully, I get my painkillers. It's as if they roll over me, wrapping me up in their warmth and taking away all the hurt. I vaguely hear Mrs Lopez laugh, and then I'm slipping into that sweet spot between awake and asleep, where everything is pretty and all the sounds are music.

"Quinn?"

I open my eyes to spy Rachel sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at me curiously. I didn't even hear her come in or feel her sit down. "Hey," I breathe, smiling lopsidedly.

"How are you feeling?"

I lick my lips. "I'm exhausted."

"What can I do?"

I sigh when her fingers touch my hair. "That," I say; "just, that."

She chuckles lightly, leaning forward, and I feel her breath on my skin. "You're like a kitten."

"A kitten?"

"I can just imagine you purring."

"I feel content enough to start," I murmur. "I _love_ painkillers."

"I bet you do."

I breathe out. "Lie with me."

It takes us an entire minute to find a position that's comfortable for both of us. I fully intend to fall back asleep, so I need to be comfortable, and I've missed the feel of Rachel's arms. As tiny as she actually is, there's strength to be found in those arms, the way they wrap around me and protect me. We have so much to talk about, but I'm content to exist in this moment where the world doesn't seem as _hard_ as it's been since that fateful Valentine's Day.

Since my party, really.

Rachel's fingers are still in my hair, playing with the blonde strands, lulling me to sleep, and they're still there when I wake up hours later. Mrs Lopez makes us lunch - which is substantially more than breakfast - forces me to take my meds, and then I nap again. Brittany and Santana are back when I open my eyes again, and I just about spy my Quinn-management team sitting together on the carpet, having a discussion I can't hear, but is definitely about me. _I'm_ all they ever speak about, anyway.

Besides ducks and the mauling of Finn Hudson, apparently.

I must make a sound because, in a flash, Brittany's smiling face is in my line of vision.

"Hi," she says.

"Hey," I breathe back, unable to stop myself from returning her smile.

"We were just talking about you," she says as she helps me sit up. "Well, S and R were whisper fighting about you, but I was telling them that you're getting better." She blinks. "Because you've finally decided you _want_ to stay here with us."

I freeze.

Brittany just tilts her head to the side and, mercifully, the other two don't seem to pick up on what she's just said. Or, if they have, they say nothing. Now isn't the time, apparently. I don't think there will _ever_ be a right time for that conversation. "We would miss you," she says, and my brain is scrambling to think about ways to get her to stop talking.

"Can I get a hug, B?" I finally say, and her face brightens. "Just, be gentle." It's preemptive and necessary because Brittany Pierce has been known to give some truly enthusiastic hugs. But now she's almost timid, settling on the bed beside me and wrapping me in arms that are safe and warm. The room falls silent, and I close my eyes, just imagining Rachel and Santana and their facial expressions of worry, concern and love. There's more, I'm sure, but those three emotions are the ones that are going to leave wrinkles. I chuckle to myself, and Brittany pulls back slightly to look at my face.

"What's so funny?" she asks.

"Nothing," I say, truthfully, and then: "just, when did we get so old?"

Brittany looks perplexed, and I hear shuffling until Santana's face moves into view.

"Hey, bitch," she says; "who are you calling old?"

And all I can do is just laugh and laugh.

* * *

It isn't until well after dinner, when Rachel and I disappear into our room in Santana's house, that I feel up to approaching the _many_ topics we've carefully avoided in favour of _anything else_. We even watched a marathon of the _Teletubbies_ , but we're here now and we're in bed and her hands are warm on my skin as we sit together. I breathe slowly, steadily, and my heartbeat mimics the action.

"Are you ready to talk?" I ask, because we both know I have to be the one to bring it up. We're in this stupid mess because we weren't talking to each other. Well, she wasn't talking to me, and I wasn't saying the one thing I actively knew I wasn't. I just didn't know how badly she wanted to hear the words. If I'd known... I don't even know _what_. Would I have said it to appease her? Would we have fought about it?

Would we be right here regardless?

"Are you?" she questions, running worried eyes over my bruised and broken body.

"I am, yes."

She nods once, sits up slowly and levels her gaze on me. "Where should we start?"

"Probably at the beginning," I say. "Valentine's Day."

Her face twists at the memory. Before that day, things had been blissful - if you disregard the blip of the night of my birthday party and my subsequent freakout about the possibility of _wanting_ sex and pushing her too far - but they were on the _better_ side.

Now, though, everything is just flailing.

"My father has always managed to elicit a visceral reaction from me," I say. "This time was no different, and I'm sorry. I - I had to make decisions and I had to make plans because, when I graduate and leave that house, it's doubtful I'll ever return to it." I take a breath. "I went to my bank to learn all I could about my finances. I mean, I've gone a couple of times since I was kicked out, but I needed to be sure after the divorce that my father hadn't done something to my accounts. He hadn't... which is probably because he forgot when my birthday was. Before, he was the signee, but I transferred it all onto my name. I have - I have two trust funds. One specifically for college, which is what I'll be using when I graduate, and another - courtesy of Grandmother Lucille - that I'll have access to when I turn twenty-one. It's not some kind of forever amount, but it'll allow me to get an education without having to worry about bills, and then I can figure out the rest later."

I bite my bottom lip in thought. It might not be a 'forever amount,' but it's a lot of money. The kind of money I've tried to hide from; tried not to _show_. It's everything _unlike_ a Fabray. I've been fighting the mould for so long, I don't even think I would remember _how_ to belong to the kind of family that uses understated methods to show off their wealth. We have too much tact just to flash it, apparently.

"As for the lawyer," I continue. "I needed to know what, if any, rights my parents have over me. Now that I'm eighteen, I'm... free of them. I can make my own decisions now, and they have no more power over me. In truth, I was probably unofficially emancipated the moment they kicked me out, but that's all just semantics. I made some changes to my healthcare plan and living will, and I'm actually part of a health insurance plan that will continue to pay out to a certain limit, so long as I'm a student, which is incentive enough to get my PhD, seriously."

She just about manages a smile. "Dr Fabray," she murmurs. "It sounds good."

I return her smile. "Well, it's an idea."

She nibbles at her bottom lip. "An idea that would come to fruition at Yale?"

I swallow nervously, shifting my eyes to the side. "I've had the letter for a while," I confess; "I just didn't open it until Santana found it the day I got back from the hospital. I was scared, I suppose. It was almost better just not knowing, but I know now, and who knew they would even want _me_?"

"Quinn," she admonishes kindly.

"Are you mad?"

"About Yale? Of course not."

"No," I say. "Are you mad I didn't tell you?"

"I think I'm not allowed to be mad about withholding things," she says solemnly. "And, really, I'm not," she adds. "I can only imagine how anxious you must have been, and I can see the merit in ignoring finding out the truth, as unhealthy as it ultimately is."

I sigh heavily. "I'm relieved to know, though."

She blinks. "So, it's for sure Yale then?"

I nod. "It's either _that_ or Harvard," I tell her, somewhat cheekily, and she gasps.

"You got into Harvard?"

I pout. "Don't sound so surprised," I grumble.

She lets out a laugh. "It's not that," she says, rolling her eyes. "It's just, you know, I'm _so_ proud of you, for Yale and for Harvard and... were there other schools?"

This is the moment to tell her about Columbia. I know it. All I have to do is open my mouth and the words will fall out, and then we can move on with our lives, having made the decisions we've made.

But.

"Just on the west coast," is what I end up saying, and her body deflates. As shitty as I feel, it's probably better this way. We're _just_ starting to rebuild, and I don't want her to think I'm choosing Yale over her... even though I kind of am. No. It's not that. I'm just choosing Yale. That's it. We'll make it work. I know we will because, for some reason, Rachel and I will always be okay. I'm sure these past few weeks have shown that.

It's written, or something. Kismet. Fate and destiny. She believes in that, and I believe in her.

"It's eighty miles from New Haven to New York," I tell her. "I've given it a lot of thought, you know. We can catch the train; they run daily and _often_. We'll see each other plenty, and we'll talk all the time. We're going to make it work."

"I know that," she says. "I think it'll just be a lot to get used to, seeing as I'm so spoiled by having you in my bed every other night."

I smile at her.

"And this is _assuming_ I get into NYADA," she mumbles.

"Hey, enough of that," I say. "They would be idiots not to take you. And, if they _do_ prove to be idiots, there's still NYU."

"As long as I'm in New York."

"It's the city you were always meant for."

We lie in silence as the truth of that hangs around us. I need her to accept it and believe it. She's going to New York, come hell or high water, with or without me. She's going to live her dream and become a Broadway star, and I'm never going to be the one to stand in the way of that. Nobody is.

Not even herself.

Rachel breaks the silence after several long minutes. "We should probably talk about Karofsky," she says, and I drop my gaze to our clasped hands. "Quinn?"

I take a breath before I bravely meet her gaze. "Yes, dear."

There's the slightest upturn of the sides of her mouth, but that's all I get. "Have you - did you ever - was - " she stops, unsure how or what to ask.

"Just, ask me," I say.

"Have you ever thought about it?"

"Thought about what?"

She breathes out, exasperated. "Quinn."

"If you're asking me if I've ever thought about taking my own life, then the answer is yes," I say, and the air around us seems to grow still. "Many times, actually," I continue, because she _has_ to know what she's signed up for. "I even went so far as to plan it a few times, in all sorts of different ways. There was always the shock value way, but that was always going to be messy. Slit wrists and gunshots. Also, pills. They were always just... around. I could make a neat little cocktail, but where was the drama in that? Hanging has a tendency to go wrong, and I don't actually want to _feel_ it, the panic and the pain." The more I speak, the more horrified she looks. There are even tears in her eyes. "Crossing roads is especially dangerous for me - too much temptation. It's just _so_ easy to step into traffic, but that's both messy _and_ painful and too much of a gamble. It might not work.

"Really, it's amazing how many ways a person _could_ die if they really _wanted_ to. Which really brings us to the conclusion that I've never actually _wanted_ to die." I believe this much, at least, now that I've truly allowed myself to think about it. "I just - I wanted my family to _notice_. I wanted them to see me and acknowledge me, and it shouldn't have taken me committing suicide for them to sit up and pay attention to the daughter they've always wished was wiped from existence. I thought about it so much, and I imagined their reactions, and I ultimately decided that it'd give them too much satisfaction if I made it easy for them."

"Quinn," she cries, reaching out to hold onto me somehow.

I shake my head, stopping her movement. "I would never be able to control the narrative after I was gone, and I could never give them the chance to paint _me_ however they chose to. I could - " my voice catches. "Why?" I suddenly ask. "Why can't they just _love me_?"

This time, when she reaches for me, I let her. She's careful with where she puts her hands, tentative and hesitant, but she still holds me, and we cry. We cry for a Lucy Fabray who was so lost and alone without the love of her family, we cry for a Quinn Fabray who wilted under the pressure she placed on herself in seeking that love, and we cry for _me_ , who can't seem to get it together enough to be the person Rachel Berry deserves.

"Quinn?" she says after the tears have dried, somewhat.

I hum.

"When was the last time you thought about... this?" she asks, and I automatically stiffen. It's like a knee-jerk reaction, and she pulls back to look at my face. "Quinn?" she whispers. "Baby?"

I can't even look at her.

"Quinn, no?" she repeats, and then sucks in a breath. "Is _that_ what Brittany was talking about?"

My eyes widen, almost comically. She _did_ hear it then. "Rachel," I whisper.

"Oh, God," she suddenly says, and she wraps me in a hug that hurts, crushing my head to her chest. "I'm sorry," she cries. "I'm so sorry. Quinn. Oh, Quinn. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you. I love you." She just keeps going, circling through words and phrases as she attempts to soothe me - which actually hurts, though I won't say so - and the world slows to these moments of understanding and more confusion. I feel as if we've been talking for years, and yet it doesn't feel as if we've even covered all that much.

"Listen to me," I force out, and she quiets. "What Britt said was right. All of it, okay? All of it." She looks confused, so I continue. She has to know. I have to convince her. "None of this is on you, okay? I don't want you to be sorry. _I'm_ the one who's fucked up, and I have _so much_ to work on, but I'm going to work hard at it, okay? I'm sorry all of this has happened. It was never supposed to be like this. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, and I definitely should have left the way I did. This - this whole experience has showed me that - " I stop suddenly. "I - I died on that operating table, Rachel. I _died_ , but I'm still here, and that _means_ something. It - it means everything, because it made me realise I don't want to be gone from this world; I don't want to be gone from you. I _never_ want to be without _you_." I suck in a breath. "I know what it feels like to think you're about to die, and I never want to feel that ever again. I used to think I had nothing to live for, Rachel, but now I have you, and you have me. Things are going to get better. You have _me_ , and I'm never letting you go."

She pulls me back tight against her and resumes her quiet chanting. She has to say the words as much as I need to hear them. We're both still crying when exhaustion claims me and I drift into a restless sleep. I dream of nooses and razor blades. I dream of spilt blood and crushed bones. I dream of shattered glass and shards of metal. I dream of darkness, surrounding me and engulfing me, dragging me down into nothingness.

And then I dream of Rachel, my flashing beacon in the dark.

* * *

Santana drives me to church in the morning. I ask her if she wants to come inside with me, but she declines. She hasn't been able to enter a church since she and Brittany made it official and came out publicly. I don't blame her. I struggle with it on most days, but there's a certain peace to be found in accepting who you are and trusting that God will love you regardless. If I'm a sinner for loving Rachel; then I'll be a sinner for the rest of my life.

Of course, people stare. Unabashedly. One would think they would have more discretion, but apparently not. I just sit perfectly still and listen to the Reverend's sermon, trying to absorb the message he's trying to convey. When I'm feeling up to it, I'm going to bake him a cake, just to say thank you for visiting me in the hospital and keeping me in his thoughts and prayers. I've come to learn he's also a fan of red velvet. And the Red Sox. I reckon he'd get a real kick out of learning I got into Harvard. I still have to tell him about Yale. I have to tell him _so many_ things.

I suddenly can't wait. I think he'll be the only thing I miss about this particular church. Because, when the service ends, I'm suddenly reminded of why that is. I'm stiff and aching and my stitches are complaining when I make a move to stand. I shuffle slightly, using the back of the pew in front of me for support, and just about manage it with my one working arm. Sitting for so long was always going to be a bad idea, but I had to come. I needed to have a conversation with Him, and with myself, and I find peace here, though I'm still not sure why or how that's even possible.

I stumble when I reach the door, because there's a shooting pain in my left side, sudden and breath-stealing. I place a hand on the doorframe, suck in a painful breath and try not to cry. I force myself to breathe steadily, my eyes squinting in the sun. I fumble for my phone but I needn't have bothered because a strong arm slips around my waist, and I look into Santana's concerned face.

"You're going to get wrinkles," I say.

She just shakes her head, supporting me as we walk slowly, down the stairs, one at a time. "And they'll all be because of you, dipshit."

"Because you love me," I murmur.

"Yeah, yeah," she says with a roll of her eyes, her free hand reaching for mine in an attempt to keep me balanced. Can a person get loopy from pain? I _feel_ loopy, drunk almost, but I return to full sobriety in an _instant_ when three woman approach us with scowls on their faces.

"Fuck," Santana mutters under her breath. We're _so_ close to the car. Why can't they just leave us be?

"Is this one of your lesbian friends then?" one of the women asks, and I'm so surprised at her bluntness and general audacity that my mouth actually drops open. She's dressed in her Sunday best - it's not all that great, but that may just be the bitch in me - pale pink and prim.

Santana just groans, and we keep walking, trying to get past them without causing a scene.

"She's not welcome here," the same woman says.

The one in the middle continues, her eyes on me with such hatred and disdain. "In fact, _you're_ not welcome here for associating with these sinners."

Santana tenses beside me and I just know that, if she weren't currently holding me up, she would be going all Lima Heights Adjacent on these women. Really, the nerve of them. Can't they _see_ I can barely stand on my own two feet? If they wanted a fight, couldn't they have waited? And, really, _three_ of them to pick on _teenagers_? What are they? An army of housewives intent on making sure the rest of the world ends up as miserable as they are?

I blink once, twice, when the women recoil, and I realise belatedly that I said that all out loud. Shit. Santana looks at me with wide, surprised eyes, and I feel the shock shoot straight through my body. Oh, my God. I've just _started_ something, and the three women, having recovered, start speaking all at once. They say things about how rude I am, about how I'm such a disappointment to my family and to God, and how I'm probably, definitely going to burn in Hell by association. It goes on and on, until Reverend Jimmy interrupts, his face stern and his words harsh. I've never heard him raise his voice before - he's always been so gentle - and I flinch, grimacing as my abdominal muscles tense around my hurt ribs.

He notices, and sighs. He _knows_. He knows everything. "Miss Lopez," he says softly, surprising Santana. "Please take Quinn home now."

Santana just nods, and we continue on our way to the car. She helps me into the passenger's seat, and I curl up, breathing laboured and my left side _on fucking fire_. I catch sight of Sam, and I spy my mother. I almost laugh. Almost. Because, if I do, I think I'll cry. As Santana drives, she runs a soothing hand over my upper arm, saying nothing. The slow motion of the car and her hand help that _something_ subside, and I no longer feel as if I'm going to hyperventilate from _everything_.

When we pull into the driveway of her house, neither of us makes a move to get out after she's switched off the engine. I don't think I _can_ , and she doesn't seem to want to. Words are pinging about in my head. All I've done, technically, is have a gay best friend, and those women went mental. I shouldn't care. I don't want to care, but there's a small part of me that does. I doubt I'll ever stop wanting acceptance, and it's a part of myself I distinctly hate.

"Will you go back?" Santana asks after an extended silence.

"Definitely," I manage to say. "I might even take my half-Jewish girlfriend with me."

She laughs out loud. "I always knew you were a fucking badass, Fabray," she says, her eyes warm. "And have I told you lately how much I love your bitchy side?"

"Countless times, actually."

"Truly, I'm _so_ proud."

I just shake my head, and we finally go inside. Rachel meets us in the entrance hall, looking equal parts relieved and concerned. I suspect I must look quite the sight to her right now. I feel as if I've just come back from war, really.

"Hi, baby," Rachel says, drawing me into a gentle hug.

I bury my face in the crook of her neck and just breathe her in, soaking up the reassuring warmth of her. Maybe she senses the tension in my body, or maybe she caught sight of my face before I hid it, because her arms tighten just that bit more.

"What happened?" she asks me and, when I don't respond she asks Santana. "What happened?"

"My presence almost started a riot outside the church," she says, sounding bored. "Apparently, lesbians are all going to burn in Hell, and Quinn's going to burn with us purely by association."

"Oh."

Santana snorts. "Is that all you have to say?"

Rachel bristles, though she doesn't release me. "Well, I don't know what you want me to say, Santana. What would suit your fancy?"

"Well, I was expecting a little more," she huffs. "What? No threatening to contact the ACLU, huh? Those people just told your girlfriend - are you even girlfriends, I can't fucking keep up - she's going to burn in Hell for _association_! What do you think they're going to do to her when they find out she loves lady parts?"

Before Rachel can shoot back with her own response, I lift my head. "Santana," I say, injecting my tone with something _cold_. "Stop it. This whole mess is more my fault than it is Rachel's, okay?" I say, feeling Rachel's grip on me tighten. "If you're going to be mad at somebody; be mad at me, okay?"

Santana glares at me.

I glare right back until her gaze drops. "Now, please can you go back to that time when I was annoyed with your Quinn-management?" I ask, failing to keep the whine out of my voice. "I never thought I would miss it."

"Whatever," Santana says, and then stalks past us to find Brittany, muttering under her breath.

I sigh, and Rachel cups my cheeks, making me look at her. "Are you okay?" I ask.

"I can handle Santana," she says with a shrug.

"You shouldn't have to," I counter. "You shouldn't have to _handle_ anything."

She just nods, running the pads of her thumbs over the skin of my cheeks. "Are _you_ okay after all that excitement?" she asks, and I shake my head. "I'm sorry."

"Please don't be," I tell her. "None of this is your fault. Or Santana's. Or mine. It's nobody's fault but theirs. I won't let them dictate whom I choose to love."

"Just who you show," she comments, and I immediately step out of her embrace.

"Rachel," I say. "I'm pretty sure we _both_ decided to keep our relationship a secret. I was there that day when we sat down with your fathers and reasoned that it would be too difficult and too dangerous to be out at school and in Lima. Are you trying to have us revisit this decision?"

She blinks, clearly not expecting so many words from me. There's a part of me that regrets them because they've taken too much breath out of me, and I need all the air I can get when my lung is acting up the way it currently is.

"No, Quinn," she says. "I don't want to revisit that conversation. My stance hasn't changed; particularly after the events of today. I just, I don't think we should be allowed to ignore the fact that, as much as we _want_ to be proud and accepting of our own relationship, there are _always_ going to be boundaries and obstacles and limitations. Everywhere we go and in anything we choose to do. Go on dates, be publicly affectionate, get married, have babies. Everything. None of it is going to be easy."

"Except this," I say.

"What?"

"Loving you," I tell her; "it's honestly the easiest thing I've ever done."

Her fingers twitch at her sides as she desperately tries to stop herself from flinging her arms around me.

I smile, despite myself. "Rachel, you know you _can_ kiss me, right?"

She nervously bites at her bottom lip. "I won't hurt you?"

"Just, be gentle."

And, when we kiss for the first time post-breakup and post-reconciliation, I can't stop myself from thinking that, yes, we're truly always going to be okay. Maybe it's naive, sure, but I still believe it.

* * *

After a good, long nap for me and a tense few hours for Santana and Rachel - during which they whisper fought at least six times, according to Brittany - the latter brunette takes me to the park. She asks me first if I'm feeling up for it, and I nod. I'd go anywhere with her; doesn't she already know that? She drives slowly - I think she expects me to suffer from some kind of PTSD about being inside a car, but I think it's the actual _driving_ that will eventual trip me up - and I try not to find the way she concentrates so hard as hilarious as I do. None of this is actually _funny_ , and this is the moment I think I _am_ actually suffering from some form of PTSD.

I've always thought about going to therapy. It's always been one of those things that's taboo in the Fabray house. We're not supposed to need head doctors to help us deal with our problems. What problems, anyway? It's not as if anyone talks about anything anyway. But, well, I realise I _must_ need it. There's nothing normal about me. At all. Try as we might, Quinn Fabray is severely fucked up, and yet people still love her.

Hmm. Maybe my family finally figured it out and everyone else is delusional.

Wow.

I really _do_ need therapy.

I stand idly as Rachel lays out the picnic blanket. It takes me an obscenely long time to sit, and then lie down, but Rachel's hands steady me, and she's all I've ever wanted. She always will be. I want to tell her all these things, but I can't stop myself from thinking about what she once said: I have to fix myself, and I wonder if I'll ever truly be able to be with her in the big and real way she deserves before I do that. I want to be whole and unbroken for _her_ , in order to love her in the proper, unconditional and all-consuming way. The thing is that I don't know how to do any of that without her. I don't _want_ to, and I'm hoping she won't _make_ me.

Rachel lies on her side beside me, her eyes focused on my profile. I can practically feel her gaze, and I turn only my head to look at her. "Quinn," she breathes.

I hum in acknowledgement.

"I just really like saying your name," she admits quietly. "I've really missed you."

"I was always right here."

She threads her fingers with mine, squeezing gently. The steady pressure is reassuring, and I never want this moment to end. "We should probably talk about why I was acting like such a bitch before Regionals," she says, and I suck in a breath, just waiting. "It really all boils down to my incessant need for declarations of love," she concludes, and I remain silent. "I told you I loved you right from the get-go because I just couldn't contain it, and I needed you to know. I couldn't keep it in, and I've struggled to see how anyone _could_ or why they'd even want to. But that's to do with me, Quinn, and I am so sorry for... _all of it_. Bringing it up the way I did, essentially demanding a declaration from you, the fight... God, the fight."

I want to say something to make it better, but I don't know what _will_. "It - it should never have turned into a fight," I confess quietly. "Maybe the timing was wrong, yes, and we were already so heated up, but I shouldn't have - " I stop and take a breath. "I'm sorry, too," I say, defeated. "There are a lot of things I would have done differently because I really hate fighting with you."

"I never ever want to fight again," she says, smiling through her tears. "Honestly, if we never fight again, I'd be perfectly happy."

"But I thought our heated arguments were a turn-on," I comment.

"Not when we're _hurting_ each other like that," she says, and the smile slips off my face. "I mean, we had that fight, which was entirely my fault - "

"No, it wasn't," I argue. "I said things too," I remind her.

"No," she says. "I started it, knowing full well that you would react the way you did. It was inevitable the way your defences would slip into play, and I should have known better than to push in that way."

"You shouldn't have had to push at all, Rachel," I say. "I've loved you for months. I _should_ have been able to tell you, and that's on me, okay?"

She sighs. "We're just both so damn stubborn and passionate, and I never want not to be talking to you and seeing you, okay? I mean, I'm under no illusions that we won't ever fight - we're Quinn and Rachel, it's practically a pastime for us - but I never want it to result in _this_ ever again. Do we understand each other?"

I blink.

"I mean, we _fought_ , Quinn, and then you were in an accident," she says.

"Those things aren't in direct correlation, Rachel."

She ignores me. " _Was_ it an accident, Quinn?"

I lick my lips, contemplating a response. "It was," I eventually say, letting out a breath I wasn't even aware I was holding until right now. "I - I didn't _want_ to die. I just wanted to _feel_." I think back to Finn's words the day we broke up, and my breath catches. "I wanted to be unafraid of whatever I _was_ feeling, Rachel," I say; "and I wanted to be _sure_ and not be scared to tell you the words I've felt for longer than even I can acknowledge."

"Quinn," she breathes.

"I just... wasn't paying attention," I say. "I mean, I _was_ , but I wasn't. I just - I didn't care, and I'm just a fucking mess, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Her hands are on cheeks now, her thumbs wiping away my tears. "You're here. You're right here. You're alive, and you're here and I'm here, and I love you."

"I'm sorry," I tell her again. "I won't - I'm never - I'm going to get better. I _want_ to get better."

"And you will," she says. "You are so strong, Quinn Fabray. Look at all you've survived already. You will survive this."

I blink. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I'm going to help you," she says. "I - I wasn't ready before, but I'm ready now. We're going to do it together." She breathes out. "I won't lose you, okay? To anything or anyone. I _can't_ lose you. I won't survive it." She places a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose, and I've missed her, even though she's right here.

"I'm sorry," I say again. I don't think I'll ever be able to say it enough.

She shakes her head. "I - I would have hated you forever if you'd succeeded," she whispers, and I close my eyes. "I - I never would have sang again," she says, and _that_ breaks my heart in a way I didn't think was possible. I've never wanted _her_ to break because _I'm_ broken. "I won't be the one to save you, Quinn," she says, and all I want to tell her is that she does save me, every day, but I just lie there and look at her beautiful, glorious face and _feel_. "But I'm going to be here to help you save yourself."

"Rachel," I breathe.

"I love you, and I want to be with you," she says. "There's no choice for me. There's never been a choice. You're mine, and I'm yours. Deal with it."

Despite myself, I let out a choked chuckle. "I've been dealing with it for months now," I manage to say, and she fakes indignation, exaggerating a gasp. I sigh. "I just don't want to mess up your entire life," I say as quietly as I can.

She smiles through her own - probably permanent - tears. "A little mess never hurt anybody."

* * *

Rachel drives me to my house when the sun starts to set. She doesn't even hesitate before coming inside with me, even though there are lights on in the house. I think she cares as much as I do about my mother seeing us - which is very little, by the way. My body hurts a little - okay, a lot - and the two of us go straight to my bedroom with the takeout we picked up on our way back from the park. I'm not particularly hungry, but I acknowledge that I have to eat something to have any pain relief. It's one way to keep injured people eating, I suppose.

First, I shower, which is a timeous and painful affair. Rachel helps as much as she can, but this is _so_ not the way I want her to see me naked for the first time. I mean, she practically already _has_ , but just _no_. So, after removing my dress and my bra, I ask her politely to leave, and she does. I kiss her first, and then she exits the bathroom, leaving the door only slightly ajar so she can hear me if I need anything. I don't. I'm sort of a professional at this showering thing now. Just, I can't wash my hair myself, which is fine, I suppose.

When I step out in my towel, Rachel has taken out pyjamas for me, consisting of silk bottoms and a Disney t-shirt. It's one of my favourites, mainly because it could fit Lucy _then_ , and it can fit Quinn _now_. I'm just slipping the t-shirt over my head when Rachel returns to the room with a tray of our food, recently heated up in the microwave. She smiles gently at the sight of me, her eyes roaming up and down my body as if she's searching for any evidence of distress.

"I'm okay," I say.

She presses her lips together. "Food," is all she says, and I hold back a sigh. We sit on my bed - I recline against my pillows because my ribs are _aching_ \- and talk about _Batman_ and _Superman_ , and how the world really _would_ react to a superhero. We talk about the _Powerpuff Girls_ , and how great it actually is that one of our childhood cartoons had female superheroes... even if they didn't have any fingers. Honestly, how is it possible for one to play _Rocks, Paper, Scissors_ without fingers?

It's when I grimace at the sudden and sharp pain in my left side and Rachel falls silent that I know this has to be addressed again. "I'm okay," I say. "It's just my body healing," I explain. "Dr Lopez said it's a good thing - the sadist - so I really am okay." She says nothing. "It's not your fault," I remind her.

She swallows, her eyes nervously meeting mine. "But if I hadn't - if we didn't - "

"Rachel," I say, as calmly and soothingly as I can. "It's not your fault. It's mine."

"Quinn," she says, her voice strained.

"It's not your fault," I repeat. "And I can't have you thinking that if we're ever going to make this work, because it'll make everything toxic. It will poison everything we try to rebuild, and I won't have it. I love you. I love you, Rachel Berry. We both made choices that day, and we've made choices since, which we still need to talk about, but I love you and I want to be with you too, so please just - it's not your fault. It's not."

Her bottom lip trembles, but she eventually sighs. "Okay," she murmurs, and I breathe out.

And, when she leans forward to kiss me, I breathe back in.

I'm breathing.

I'm breathing Rachel Berry.


	32. thirty-two

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _i have a life to garden.  
_ _a multiverse to wake from sleep._

 _._

Much to Quinn's distaste, she is unable to return to school for another full week. Dr Lopez threatens her with re-admittance to the hospital if she doesn't comply and ensure she gets sufficient rest, and she pouts adorably. Santana and I even share a laugh over it, which is the least heated or awkward moment we've had in quite some time. I realise I'm going to have to work harder to fix things with her than I ever am with Quinn. Because Santana warned me, and she's scarily protective of Quinn in a way I'm just learning to understand.

Quinn's grumbling is moot, anyway, because we're scheduled to go on Spring Break the following week, which is something I brave bringing up to her on the Tuesday she gets back from her first session of physical therapy. Her face is pinched in pain and discomfort, though she says nothing about it. She's at my house when I get home, because my Daddy took her to the hospital for a checkup and her session, and I find them both in the living room, chatting to each other about the wonders of cheese. Gosh.

Both their faces brighten when they see me, and I kiss my Daddy's cheek and Quinn's forehead (we still haven't shared a proper kiss in front of either of my dads, and I'm not pushing.) In fact, we haven't actually _properly_ \- I'm referring to lips, tongues and teeth here - kissed since the day of the accident; the day we won Regionals, when I decided to address issues that had no business being addressed at that time or in that manner.

Which is something we've also yet to speak about.

Quinn is borderline exhausted from her session but she's determined to talk to my Daddy because it's obvious she's missed him. Her eyes droop and her words slur, and she's honestly just the cutest person in the entire world. My Daddy and I constantly exchange amused looks as she tries her best to pay attention to what we're saying, but, eventually, he gestures for me to take her upstairs, so I slide off the couch and kneel in front of her.

"Baby," I whisper; "would you like to catch a nap?"

She pouts. "No."

I run a hand over her hair, unable to contain my smile. "God, you're so adorable."

"Rachel," she whines, and I just laugh.

Without a word, I rise and help her stand. She lets me, and I slip an arm around her waist to lead the way up the stairs to my bedroom. It's slow and, halfway up, I consider just taking us back down and having her nap on the couch, but she just keeps on going and we eventually arrive at the top. She gets cuter and cuter as I help her take off her cardigan and her shoes. I can't resist threading my fingers through her hair, and she practically purrs. She really is like a kitten.

Slowly, we get situated on my bed and I cover us with the throw blanket. It _is_ a nap, after all. I've barely been able to settle before she falls asleep. I can't take my eyes off her, and I keep my fingers in her hair, unable to stop. It's just so soft and silky and _look at how short it is_. Eventually, I close my eyes as well, and follow Quinn into dreamland. I _don't_ dream, but there's a part of me that's fully aware of Quinn and Quinn's mind and Quinn's body. All things I love, with my entire heart and my entire being.

When I open my eyes again, Quinn's are also open and she's looking at me with something like wonder in her eyes. "Hi," I croak, my voice thick with sleep.

"Hi," she whispers back, and she smiles faintly. "How did you sleep?" she asks, her hand moving to twirl around strands of my hair.

"Perfectly."

She blushes, because she understands what I'm saying without having to explain. "I need to talk to you about something," she says.

I try to keep myself still and not panic, because it can't be something bad. She wouldn't be smiling if it was. "Okay."

"I talked to LeRoy about seeing a therapist," she tells me, her fingers continuing their motion through my hair. "A head one, I mean," she clarifies. "He thinks he knows the right one for me, so I'm going to meet with her when we get back from New York."

I blink. She's said so much, but my brain latches onto only one very specific thing. "Did you just say New York?"

She bites her bottom lip as she nods her head. "As long as a medical professional is with me, I should be allowed to travel," she says. "I discussed it with my physical therapist - his name is Chris, by the way - and he's going to give me exercises to do while we're away."

Now, I'm fully aware that I'm staring at her, but I can't bring myself to look away. "You're coming with us to New York?" I ask, because I need the clarification. I need her to be clear and direct.

"If you'll still have me."

I squeal, and stretch my neck to kiss her firmly on the lips. "I was planning on bringing it up," I whisper. "I had an entire speech planned."

"Was there a _PowerPoint_?" she teases, and I kiss her again, shifting so I don't have to stretch my neck as much. I just want to kiss her, which is what I do, tender and slow and meaningfully. I've missed her and her purposeful teasing and her gentle laughter and her penetrating gaze. Sometimes, she looks at me as if she sees nobody else in the world, and I've never felt more present and more alive and _free_. Quinn does all of that for me, and so much more.

Quinn lets out a soft sigh and she sucks lightly on my tongue. Her mouth is warm and her fingers are soft as she traces patterns on the skin of my back, beneath my sweater. Everything is in slow motion, sensual in a way. The kiss is gentle, and kissing for the sake of kissing is one of my favourite things to do. It's intimate and it feels as if my nerve endings are on fire. She tastes like Quinn in every way, and she smells like her and she feels like her, and I never want to be apart from her ever again.

She's the one to pull away first, and she gives me a lazy, content smile. That number nine one. "Will you help me pack?" she asks, yawning cutely.

"Of course," I respond easily.

We're silent for a full minute before she breaks it. "There's a large part of me that's still very confused about things," she says, and I wait. She's talking now. "I'm able to ignore it because the relief and the love I'm feeling is overshadowing all of that, but I think we're going to be doing a lot of talking for the next few weeks."

I blink. "Is that your way of saying we'll be doing less kissing?"

She lets out an amused breath. "We'll kiss," she says; "but we're not doing any of that other stuff."

"Other stuff?" I ask innocently. "The fact that you can't even say it out loud is a sure indicator we're not ready."

A quiet growl rumbles in her chest, and I place a kiss against the underside of her chin. We're quiet now, but I know what's coming, and Quinn gets to the crux of it rather quickly. We've sort of discussed it, but there's more to it and we both know it. "Tell me what you were thinking," she says quietly, curiously. "What - what happened?"

I swallow audibly, and she waits patiently. "I needed you to _tell_ me you love me," I tell her. "I mean, I _knew_ it, and I tried to convince myself that I didn't need you to say the words, but I did. I tried not to, because I didn't want to demand anything of you. I just - I needed the affirmation and I didn't know how to ask for it without risking your walls rising or your running."

She breathes out in a _whoosh_.

"And I thought maybe you just didn't tell _anyone_ that you loved them, but then I heard you say it, so easily, to Santana and Brittany and it made me act irrationally in so many ways, Quinn, and I hated that I just couldn't get over it. I didn't know how _not_ to dwell on it, and I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't, and I'm sorry I took it out on you. I just - I didn't understand - was it me? - and I just wanted to get through Regionals so we could discuss it, but everything just got so out of control, and I'm sorry. Baby, I'm so sorry."

Her breathing is unsteady. "I had an idea," she says, softly and shakily. "I've been terrified of saying the words to _you_ , because - " she halts, her voice catching. "I don't want to lose you, Rachel," she whispers.

I frown; I can't help it. "I don't understand. Why would you lose me?"

"My love is toxic," she says. "I've loved before, Rach, and I've been burned by it. Generally, people only like me because I'm popular or because I can offer them something. Everyone I've ever _truly_ loved has left me... my parents, my sister, Beth, Finn. It doesn't seem like a lot, I know, but I've loved you _so much_ and for _so long_ and I didn't tell you because I couldn't bear for you to _know_ it and leave. Because I just take and I take, and I consume and I thought that if I just held onto this one thing..." she trails off. "I lost myself so much in my previous relationship, and I think I didn't want to do the same with you, but... I've failed.

"It's different with you, though. Even as I've fallen deeper and deeper into everything you are, I've held onto myself and who I am, and I'm less afraid of it than I thought I would be. When you brought it up, I reacted badly, and I'm sorry. I mean, I don't know how _else_ Quinn Fabray would have reacted, but I did the one thing you were afraid of, and lifted my defences, and I'm sorry. I - I didn't run, though."

"I didn't really give you the chance to," I say, unable to look at her. I can practically taste the bile in my throat at the memory of telling her to _get out_. I can't even believe myself. What was happening to me that day?

She closes her eyes for a beat.

"I'm sorry," I say again, and _why is it that we keep apologising to each other_?

"I'm sorry, too," she says. "I said things too."

"But you were right."

"It doesn't matter if I was right or not," she says. "I never want to be someone who hurts you. Not ever again, okay? Regardless of what we're talking about, or fighting about. I never want to hurt you. I don't want to turn into him."

"No, Quinn, no," I whisper, stricken.

"No," she counters, shaking her head. "I've spent too long hurting you and hurting others, and I didn't figure out it was the Russell Fabray in me until I lost _everything_. I told myself I didn't ever want to be like him, and I promise I'm going to be better. I'm going to get better, _for you_."

I close my eyes. "I can't be the reason you want to get better, Quinn," I say, and I mean it. It's not healthy for either of us to put that kind of pressure on me or this relationship. " _You_ have to be."

"I don't - " she chokes out. "I don't know how to love myself as much as I love you."

"Then I'll love you enough for the both of us until you can catch up."

"You make it sound so simple."

"It _is_ simple," I say. "Quinn Fabray, you make it so simple to love you... even when you make it difficult."

She chuckles lightly, and I can't resist kissing her. We still have things to talk about - namely the aftermath of the accident and the breakup that never should have been - but she looks like she's getting loopy again. It's out-of-this-world cute and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from commenting.

"Get some more sleep," I murmur, my hand cupping her cheek. "We'll talk more another time, okay?"

She hums softly. "Goodnight, Rach," she says, even though it's not actually bedtime yet.

"Goodnight, Quinn," I say anyway.

She lets out a puff of breath as she resettles, and this girl owns all of my heart; all of _me_. I'm still a little scared of it - this love I feel for her, and this overwhelming tide of surety - but I'm staying. I'm not running.

Just when I think she's fallen asleep, her eyes open and she looks at me with startling focus. "Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

"My parents bought me a new car," she says, and I don't mistake the quiver in her voice.

"Oh."

She takes a breath, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, as if she's forcing away the memories. "Will you still love me if I never drive again?"

I run both my hands over her hair and then hug her to my body. "I'll love you for forever, Quinn Fabray," I say, and I mean it.

* * *

During lunch on Wednesday, it's difficult to ignore the way Kurt watches me as I eat my salad. Quinn's been out of school for so long that I don't even bother to look in the direction of the Cheerios' table anymore. My habit of looking is almost broken, and just the idea of that makes me sad. She's been gone _that_ long, and I can't wait for her to come back and rule the school once again. Santana does a good job, I suppose, but there's something intrinsically different about having Quinn Fabray at the top of the social hierarchy, and it's as if everyone has realised it.

Eventually, I drop my fork with a clang, and Kurt jumps. "What _is_ the matter?" I ask him pointedly, ignoring the rest of the table. " _Why_ are you staring at me?" If I feel panicked about the fact he may or may not know about Quinn and me; I decidedly don't show it.

Kurt shifts in his seat. "I'm waiting for you to finish eating," he says; "I need to talk to you about something."

I sigh. I really hate that phrase, and it just seems that everyone around me insists on using it. "I'm almost done," I tell him, and force down several more bites. I'm not really that hungry, anyway. I miss Quinn a little too much, and she hasn't responded to my morning texts. I _know_ she has another session of physical therapy, and I can only hope it's going as well as it did yesterday. I'll probably find her passed out when I get home, and just the idea of _that_ makes me smile. Unable to resist, I take out my phone and send another text.

 **Berry: I miss you :* Also, I hope therapy hasn't taken too much out of you (though, you're all kinds of adorable when you're sleepy and incoherent.)**

Her immediate reply surprises me.

 _Quinn: I don't even know if I have the energy to be indignant right now. I miss you too._

 _Quinn: Also, I love you. X_

I grin at my screen, unabashedly and unknowingly. I miss the looks I receive for my reaction.

 **Berry: Quinn.**

 _Quinn: little star._

 **Berry: Baby.**

 _Quinn: I LOVE YOU. (Let it be known that, if I could, I would be twirling around with my arms spread wide, screaming into the endless abyss that the name stamped across my battered heart is Rachel Barbra Berry.) Thank you and_ _goodnight. X_

I giggle and swoon and my chest is aching with all kinds of happiness and love and joy and _this girl is mine to keep_.

"Okay," Mercedes suddenly says, getting my attention. " _Who_ are you texting?"

My face falls and my mouth snaps shut as I look up from my screen. "What?"

"Girl, are you seeing someone?" she asks. "I mean, I suspected something after the singing telegram, but I pushed it to the back of my mind. So, tell me, is there someone new in your life?"

I think I can answer that question without lying. Quinn isn't _new_. "No," I say carefully. "There's nobody _new_ in my life." I exchange a quick look with Blaine, and he looks gloriously amused by my wording.

"Oh," Mercedes says, sensing my truth. "Then why are you smiling at your phone?"

Blaine saves me. "Not every smile means she has a secret lover, Mercedes," he says. "You _know_ Rachel grins madly at pictures of kittens." And then the two of them descend into a conversation about how cute their little paws are, and how the cutest ones have different-coloured fur on their feet to look like socks. Black and white is their favourite, apparently.

I stuff another two mouthfuls into my mouth before Kurt and I excuse ourselves. I follow him out of the cafeteria and into the corridor. We don't go very far, just putting enough distance between us and the door to know to stop talking if anyone comes out.

"Kurt," I prompt when he just fiddles with his hands in a way I've never seen before. Kurt Hummel does _not_ have a nervous tick. But, then again, neither does Santana Lopez, and I've laid eyes on it. I'm learning new things every day.

"I want to visit Dave tonight," Kurt finally says, his voice small as he nervously avoids meeting my gaze. "Will you come with me?" he asks, and I automatically nod. "Blaine is - " he starts to explain, but then stops. "He doesn't understand why I wouldn't tell him about the level of Dave's advances. He - he thinks I secretly liked the attention, and - " he chokes on his words " - I think he's right."

I don't really know what to say to him, so I just pull him into a hug and _hold him_. I run a soothing hand along his back, up and down, until his trembling ceases and he's managed to compose himself. "Of course, I'll come with you," I say unnecessarily, and he nods once, thanking me softly, before he returns to the cafeteria and I go to my locker. All the rush of texting Quinn seems to have disappeared, but I just want to talk to her. I want to hear her voice. So, retrieving my phone and making my way to the choir room, I dial my perfect blonde.

She answers on the fifth ring, sounding particularly groggy. "Rach?"

My eyes widen. "Oh, my God, did I wake you up?"

"No," she says, hoarsely, and it's such a lie. "I was just resting. What's up?"

"I'll be quick," I tell her. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm going with Kurt to visit Karofsky after Glee."

"Okay," she mumbles. "And you called to tell me that, why?"

I sigh. "Because I wanted to hear your voice," I confess, because I'm not going to let either of us shy away from our feelings. I'm going to tell her everything, and we'll just deal with it as it comes.

She chuckles lightly. "Okay, then," she says, yawning.

"I love you."

"I love you too," she says. "And I can't wait to see you. I'll be the blonde - probably - asleep in your bed when you get home."

I feel a bit better after talking to Quinn, and it manages to tide me over enough to get through my last lessons and Glee, which really hasn't been the same since Quinn's accident. Even though she's usually silent, the lack of her presence has everyone off-kilter. Santana is snarkier than usual - which, admittedly, is probably my fault - and the boys just look _lost_. I think the reality of what _could_ have happened has seeped into everyone's consciousness at different times, and there's a collective melancholy. Even seeing her for those few minutes last Friday wasn't enough. She has to come back, and she has to sing and dance before any of it can get better for any of them.

Kurt waits for me when Mr Schuester dismisses us, and we walk together to our respective lockers to fetch our books for the homework I'm suddenly not sure I want to do. Majority of our work is due for after Spring Break anyway. When we get to the parking lot, he suggests we leave my car and take his. I don't question him because he looks nervous already, and I won't add to it. I have questions about Karofsky and about Blaine, and I especially want to ask him if he'd ever been so lost and alone that he too considered Karofsky's actions. As much as Kurt stands tall and strong, living and loving life; one can never be too sure. I mean, if I didn't know Quinn the way I do, I could never have guessed all she's thought about her life and herself.

I suppose some people are just really good at hiding their truths, keeping the mask and facade in place. It must be lonely, and I can't help thinking that we're all just too damn young for all of this.

Kurt is silent as he drives, and I don't ask how he knows where Karofsky lives. After his release from the hospital, Karofsky returned home, which, I've learned, hasn't been a pleasant experience for him. He hasn't been able to go back to school, and I'm starting to doubt he will. Not to that same one, at least. We pull into the driveway of a quiet, modest house behind a large truck, and my mind flashes to a vehicle just like that one ploughing into my fragile girlfriend. I shudder involuntarily.

"Let's go inside," Kurt says, his voice steady despite the obvious weight of this visit. After we weren't allowed to see Karofsky the night we visited before Regionals, none of us has been able to see him. And, really, I wasn't going to go without Kurt. Despite everything that's happened, there's a part of me that's still a little afraid of our once-bully. It isn't as if I think Kurt could protect me or anything, but I get the feeling Karofsky is done with hurting Kurt.

Physically, at least.

Karofsky is the one to answer the door, and he looks positively miserable. Gaunt and haggard, his clothing creased and his eyes hollow. I try not to dwell too much on the fact that he's alone in the house. After an awkward greeting, he invites us inside and we settle in the small living room. The furniture is covered in plastic, and it squeaks under our bodies. For a while, nobody says anything. And then they're saying everything. Kurt opens the floodgates by asking how he's doing, and then he's saying words and my heart is breaking.

Karofsky says things like _thank you for coming_ and Kurt says _I'm glad you're alive_ and Karofsky says _thank you_ and Kurt says _sorry I didn't return your calls_ and Karofsky says _I understand; I didn't give you much reason to_ and Kurt just shakes his head, saying _it's not an excuse_. I pay attention to my breathing as best I can, trying to keep it even and steady. Because then Karofsky says _you are so strong, Kurt, because I made your life a living hell for so long, and I couldn't even handle one week of people knowing_ and Kurt says _you're strong too, because you're still here_. I blink back tears. Karofsky says _my best friend wants nothing to do with me and my mother thinks I have a disease to be cured and I just don't know what to do_ , and Kurt says _we have to find you a new school and we have to find you the kind of support to make it easier, because none of this is going to be easy; because life is going to suck at times, but it's going to be good too, and those are the moments that are important, right, Rachel_?

My head snaps up, and I offer an encouraging smile. "Those _are_ the moments that are important," I say, and it's the truth. "They're the only ones that matter at all."

When Kurt tells Karofsky to close his eyes and imagine himself in ten years' time, I can't resist doing the same. My eyelids shut and I don't have to think too hard for the complete picture to form in my mind because the central focus is always going to be Quinn. I can see her, looking young and free and relaxed, sitting at a bay window in our New York home with a book in her lap. Or a notebook, and a pen in her hand. She's wearing her glasses, and the light is hitting just right and she's beautiful and angelic and radiant and _mine_. I know, from the look of us, that we've accomplished things. Tonys and Grammys and Pulitzers and Bookers and Oscars, but our greatest accomplishment will be the life we've built together, from the wedding set on her left hand to the steady sound of little feet running into the room. I picture (lots of) little bodies pouncing on Quinn, and I can hear her happy laugh. I can't see the faces of the children but I imagine they have Quinn's eyes and her gentle reverence as we dance around the room, happy and _alive_.

I imagine my future with Quinn, and it means _everything_.

When I return to the conversation, Kurt has taken Karofsky's hand and is saying _I think I'd like for us to be friends too_. I can't stop myself from thinking about what Blaine will think about that. We're quiet for a long time, and I wonder if I've ever experienced such a comfortably uncomfortable silence before.

"Sometimes, I just wish I wasn't gay," Karofsky eventually says to break the quiet, and my heart hurts. "Actually, I wish that all the time. Life would be so much easier, and I wouldn't be feeling all of _this_." He waves an absent hand in the air, and it's that dejectedness that crushes more than his anger and rage. It's like he's... given up, and I recognise that apathy as something I've seen in Quinn. I clench my fists at my sides and try not to think about my girlfriend feeling so lost and hurt in her _own home_... which makes me feel even worse when I consider she wasn't even dealing with her sexuality _back then_. Just imagine if she had.

"It isn't a choice," Kurt says, and he's always been so strong in his convictions. I've always admired that about him. "Ignorant people always think it is... as if we could somehow just turn it off and force it away. We'd be miserable and, as difficult as this life sometimes is, I'd rather be true and happy. So, I say, don't be afraid of it," he says, his hands shaking. "We can't be afraid of it."

Karofsky just nods his head, and it's easy to tell he's not yet strong enough in his _own_ convictions to accept what this all means for him.

"Say it with me," Kurt says, and he reaches for the boy's hand. "I'm gay." He waits a beat. "I'm gay, and I love myself."

Karofsky just stares at him like he's finally gone and lost his mind.

Frankly, I do too.

Kurt glances at me before his eyes are back on Karofsky. "I'm gay, and I love myself."

"That just sounds wrong," Karofsky says, letting out a laugh that sounds so foreign to my ears. I don't think I've ever heard him laugh before. Well, not genuinely. He's definitely laughed manically, in that evil way one does when they've just thrown a slushy in a person's face.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Just say it with me. I'm... gay, and I love myself." He sighs. "Dave."

"Fine," he huffs. "I'm... g - " He shakes his head. "This is stupid."

"Of course, it is," Kurt agrees. "That's the entire point. Try again."

Karofsky falters, and the words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"I'm gay, and I love myself." Both boys stare at me for the longest time, and I take a slow, shaky breath. "See," I say with a casual shrug that I hope hides my panic. "It's simple."

"Exactly," Kurt says, recovering enough to pry his gaze away from me. "Just like that." He keeps his attention on Karofsky and, fleetingly, I hope he forgets everything that's just happened.

It's futile, I know, but I still hope.

Thankfully, though, he doesn't bring it up until we're in the car on our way back to school, so I can fetch my car. "So, you're gay, and you love yourself?" he asks and, even though I expect it, I still freeze. I want to deny it and just tell him I was trying to be supportive, but I've never wanted to deny who I am. His smile is gentle when he looks at me, and I can't help but return it. I nod once, and his smile widens. "How long have you known?"

I don't even have to think back. "For sure? Umm, probably the weekend of my birthday," I tell him. "Though, at the time, I just knew there was a very specific girl I liked."

He reads as much into that as he can, and his eyes widen when realisation hits. "No?" he asks. "Rachel, seriously?"

"Yes," I say.

He breathes out. "Did you tell her?"

"Yes," I say again, a smile slipping across my face just at the thought of my girlfriend. It's practically automatic at this point. We're... kind of in a good place now, I suppose.

"God, did she freak out?"

I shake my head. "Quite the opposite, actually."

It's almost comical the way his jaw drops down and the shock hits him. "You and Quinn Fabray," he says in wonderment, slowly recovering from this revelation. "I must say, Rachel," he says; "you sure do know how to pick them."

I can't help myself. "She's lovely, isn't she?"

It looks like he's burning with questions upon questions, but he just reaches for my hand and squeezes gently. "So are you."

* * *

After her initial panic, Quinn is only borderline apprehensive about the fact that Kurt knows about us. I assure her that Kurt is the very last person in this world who would ever out us, and it helps that Blaine knows as well, so he has someone to talk to whenever his inner gossip threatens to make an appearance. She grimaces at the mention of Blaine, and I think I know what's been playing on her mind because it's been playing on mine too. It's obvious to us that Kurt and Blaine have been fighting - or just not talking - since the truth about Karofsky came to light. I don't know if it's about the secrecy or if something else is cracked between them, but the idea of them in this position hurts my heart.

"How is Karofsky?" she asks quietly, leaning against me as we sit in the living room and watch television with my dads. My Daddy is flipping through the channels searching for something decent to watch. Television, these days, does leave much to be desired.

"Broken," I say, and she tenses. "But healing. We're going to help him."

"You're too good."

"I am," I agree, and she breathes a laugh. Besides her _actual_ laugh, I think this is my favourite sound... well, besides the collective sounds she makes when she comes, but that's something else entirely. I flush instantly, and it's a good thing she's no longer looking at me.

"I want to help them all," she says, slow and purposeful; "but I don't think I _can_."

I sigh, because I know what she's talking about. We _could_ help by being true and open the same way Santana, Brittany, Kurt and Blaine are. We could help the other closeted kids accept themselves; help them stop hating themselves, and hopefully prevent another Karofsky. Statistically, I _know_ that gay teenagers are at a higher risk of suicide and it terrifies me to think that if Quinn had figured out her sexuality _before_ , she wouldn't be here. It seems enough to push anyone off the edge, and she's been teetering for far longer than I care to think about. Since Lucy. Since _little_ Lucy.

Even Quinn couldn't escape Lucy's pain.

Which brings a question to the forefront of my mind, but I know I can't ask it in front of my dads. There's no way she'll respond well to a public question to her 'liking' pain. I'm tempted _not_ to ask it at all, but I know I have to because we're talking about things now. I wait until we're in bed and she's halfway asleep because this is the time when she's the most truthful. We're lying facing each other, and her breath is mingling with mine. She smells fresh and minty, even though her eyes are weary, unfocused and droopy.

"Baby," I murmur.

"Hmm?"

"Did you - did you ever hurt yourself?"

Her body tenses for a beat, before it relaxes. This is a step for us. "Yes," she finally says. "Yes," she repeats, trembling, and I realise it's an admission she's never said out loud. "With my hands, mostly - punches and pinches - but other things too: safety pins and letter openers. Not all of them left marks, but it was the pain I wanted. I - I was convinced I deserved it," she explains. "I thought - I _believed_ I deserved the pain and, sometimes I _wanted_ it. Just, to _feel_."

My vision blurs as tears pool in my eyes.

"But I feel so much now," she says, easing some of the turmoil in my chest. "Some bad things, still, but mostly good. I'm allowing myself to accept my happiness, and it's liberating."

"I love you," I say, and it feels as if it's bursting out of my chest, washing over her and covering her in the pieces of my heart as if I could somehow protect her from the great big world that constantly threatens her with darkness.

She breathes a laugh again, and I realise it's because her ribs hurt too much to laugh fully. "I love you too, Rachel Berry," she murmurs, her eyes closing.

"Plans for tomorrow?" I ask, almost desperate to hold onto this moment.

One eye opens. "Try not to kill Chris when he makes me do an exercise a _fourth_ time when he initially said three, have a nice long conversation with LeRoy about, uh, amphibians, and watch my very sexy girlfriend pack my clothes for me." The eye closes.

I blink. "Amphibians?" I question, confused. "And, pack _for_ you? I thought I was just _helping_."

But she's already asleep.

Which really gives me permission to cry and cry, for this beaten and broken girl in my arms, who's only fault was being born into a family who didn't know how to love.

* * *

Kurt and I go for coffee at the Lima Bean after my dance class on Thursday. I tell him it has to be a quick one because I'm expected at Quinn's house to _help_ her pack, and he smiles knowingly when I explain my reasons behind cutting our afternoon short.

"Shut up," I mutter, and he's smirking now. "She's injured, you know. She needs help."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" he teases.

I roll my eyes, and wrestle with the idea of divulging that Quinn and I haven't actually had sex. And we probably aren't going to be doing that any time soon. We still have so much to work through, and it just feels as if it's never going to end. I desperately want to get past all of this, and just get to the good parts; the happy parts.

Quite suddenly, his brow furrows and his eyes widen. "Wait. _Why_ are you packing Quinn's clothes?"

I press my lips together. "Uh, because we're going to New York for Spring Break," I tell him, eventually deciding on full disclosure. I think I do need to talk to someone about all of this, and I've always been closer to Kurt than I have to Blaine, and Santana and Brittany are more Quinn's friends. I know I _can_ talk to them, but I'm more comfortable with Kurt. Quinn even mentioned that she's glad I _do_ have Kurt now: someone to turn to who isn't her, so I can bitch about her. I just kissed her lips once, left for school, and now here I am, accepting that she's right. I feel... better knowing I have Kurt in my corner.

Kurt's mouth drops open. "What?"

I giggle softly. "We're going to look at NYADA," I tell him. "I'm pretty sure I mentioned it last year."

He visibly thinks back. "I can't recall, but you probably did." He smiles widely. "This is wild, Rachel."

"What is?"

"You and Quinn."

"How so?"

"I don't even know," he says, sipping at his coffee. "I just didn't see it coming. I mean, it's surprising, but also not. I want to know _everything_." He must sense my hesitation, because he smiles sympathetically and reaches for my hand. "Well, anything you _want_ to tell me," he offers. "I'm not going to tell anyone. These things; they're sacred things, important and precious. I just get the feeling you need someone to talk to, who isn't Quinn or your dads."

I breathe a sigh, because he's right. Of course, he's right. Quinn talks to Santana, and now I get to talk to Kurt. We've both got our own gay best friends, and a ghost of a smile spreads across my face when that thought comes to mind. "I think I do," I quietly confess.

"You can talk to me," he says. "If you _want_ to, of course."

I smile warmly. "Would you believe me if I tell you it all started with a week-old granola bar?"

He leans forward. "Ooh, tell me more."

I giggle, sit up straight and begin to tell him the story of our young relationship. I leave a lot out - particularly the stuff regarding Quinn's childhood and mental health - but I do explain how we've both suffered through gay panic, numerous times and in different ways. I mention the fight and he nods knowingly because it shouldn't be surprising that Quinn would hide her feelings. She's spent so long doing it; I should have known better. I don't tell him about the breakup because I don't even know how to explain it, and Quinn and I still haven't actually talked about it yet. We seem to be putting it off.

I don't realise I'm smiling like a fool until Kurt points it out.

"She makes you happy," he states, rather than asks.

"Despite _everything_ , she really does, yes," I say, and it's the truth. We've been through a lot and, yes, it's difficult a lot of the time, but she does make me feel happy and... loved. "I've never felt this way about anyone. I never imagined I _could_ feel like this about another person. It's - it's like music is constantly playing in my head, a soundtrack to my life that's never going to end."

Kurt looks thoughtful.

"What?"

"Sorry," he says. "I'm just thinking about Blaine."

My features soften in understanding. "Are you two okay?"

He waits a beat. "Honestly, no, we're not," he says. "I fully acknowledge his right to be angry with my omission about the extent of Dave's advances, but I still don't believe I did anything entirely wrong."

"Have - have you apologised?" I ask, hesitant.

He pauses before he nods. "I think he's forgiven the act itself, but not what he believes is the reason behind it."

"Which is?"

"He's _convinced_ I'm dissatisfied with our relationship."

I swallow. "Are you?"

The fact that he doesn't immediately deny the question is telling, and we both fall to silence, absently sipping at our cooling drinks. I don't know what to say to make any of this better for him. I didn't think it would be this way but same-sex relationships just seem _harder_ , and I'm flailing just as much as Kurt is, and he's been out and proud for so much longer.

Kurt eventually sighs. "I don't know," he finally says. "There's just no..." he trails off, as if he doesn't _want_ to say the words. He says them anyway. "There's no music. Not anymore."

* * *

We leave for Columbus straight after Glee on Friday. I barely have time to change into something more comfortable for travelling when I get home, because my Dad is shepherding me to the car and locking up the house. Quinn is already tucked away in the backseat, her eyes closed after what was probably a painful physical therapy session. Her left arm is tucked away in her sling even though she's been using it sporadically, and she looks peaceful. I slide in beside her, tuck my handbag under my Daddy's seat and _sigh_. We're getting out of Lima.

"Everyone ready?" my Dad asks, unnecessarily, and I give him a double thumbs up.

When Quinn hums, I look at her. Her eyes are just opening and she sits up, painfully. Her gaze settles on me as my Dad backs out of the driveway, and a perfect smile blooms on her face. "Hi," she breathes, leaning towards me and pressing a kiss to my lips. It's the first time we've _ever_ kissed in front of my dads and she doesn't even panic; just continues to smile, and then returns to her previous position. When her eyes slip shut again, I have to convince myself it wasn't all a dream, but one look forward and I know it wasn't.

My Dad and I exchange a brief look in the rearview mirror, and he smiles gently, _knowingly_. These next few days are going to be important going forward. Quinn and I will be out and together in public for an extended amount of time, and we'll be facing our first real stint at cohabitation. My dramatic mind is telling me it's either make or break, but, whatever happens, I just know Quinn and I will always be okay.

I settle into my seat and breathe out, my eyes taking in the passing streets of Lima. We're on our way to New York City, and this is the first time I allow myself to get excited about it. By this time tomorrow, I'm going to be in New York. With Quinn. I find myself smiling, unable to resist.

There's movement to my left, and Quinn's hand snakes out from beneath the light blanket that's draped over her. She reaches blindly, her eyes still closed, and I automatically slip my hand into hers, squeezing her fingers. She lets out a small sigh, smiles faintly and I just know she feels it too. We're going to New York, and she's right here with me.

Where she'll always be.


	33. thirty-three

**Chapter** **Thirty-Three**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _as a child, there was either books or pain.  
_ _i chose books._

 _._

As if my body's clock is telling me it's time to wake up, I open my eyes just as we're entering Columbus. My body is stiff, but I feel less exhausted than I did after my physical therapy session. It's irritating how tiring it can be to move a _shoulder_ around. I think it's mainly to do with the fact that everything else hurts as well. My core muscles work double-time to ease the burning fire caused by my still-healing ribs, and my incisions stretch with every movement. Even though I've had the staples removed and the wounds are no longer bandaged, they're still healing _inside_ , and it hurts.

They also itch sometimes, which is equal parts irritating and baffling.

It isn't exactly late when we get to Columbus, and the first thing we do is check into the hotel where we'll be spending the night. Hiram gives us just enough time to freshen up before we head out again. LeRoy packed home-cooked food for just this occasion, and I find myself feeling inexplicably nervous when we pull up in front of the nursing home. Rachel's talked about her Aunt Marianne countless times, and it's obvious this woman is important to her, which makes this first meeting even more critical for me, and for us. I want the woman to like me. I mean, what if she doesn't like me? Then what?

Despite Rachel's assurances that she already loves me, I can't help my shifty eyes and shaking hands. She slips one of hers into mine and gives it an encouraging squeeze. "She's going to love you," she says quietly. "And, even if she doesn't, _I_ love you, and that's not going to change."

"I know you think that's helping, but it's really not," I inform her, which earns me a soft giggle and a kiss pressed to my cheek. We follow her fathers the rest of the way in silence. I don't know what I'm expecting, really, but I don't anticipate the woman Rachel's described as being so full of life, boisterous and loving to look so frail. Rachel's breath catches when we lay eyes on her, and it's my turn to squeeze her hand, drawing her closer into my side as we approach. Aunt Marianne is tucked into her wheelchair, sitting in the corner of the games room, looking out the window with a forlorn expression on her face.

It's the kind of expression I can recognise. It's the one that _knows_ the end is coming. Expects it. _Wants_ it.

"Aunt Marianne," LeRoy says, his voice so gentle and soft, and I've never heard that kind of reverence from him before.

It takes an obscenely long time for her to turn her head to look at him, and then another moment to recognise him. Slowly, a smile spreads across her face, and her eyes light up. Right before our eyes, she turns into an entirely different person, and I see the woman my girlfriend's been describing all these months.

The introductions are quick, and she gives me the biggest smile as she takes hold of my hand and pulls me to sit on the stool beside her wheelchair. Rachel sits on my left and slides a hand onto my knee, while her fathers take up positions opposite us. We talk about nothing for a while, and LeRoy starts to take out the food. Aunt Marianne hasn't released my hand for a moment and, with any other person, I would probably freak out about it, but not with her. I wouldn't be able to explain why.

At some point, she turns to look at me, her eyes very serious. "I am so glad I get to meet you," she whispers to me when Rachel's attention is on her fathers, her face mere inches from mine. "I've been waiting for you."

I blink in surprise.

She smiles at me as if she's seeing _everything_ , and I try very hard not to be unsettled by it. "I've heard so much about you, Quinn," she says.

"All good things, I hope," I say, nervously glancing away from her.

"Rachel tells me everything," she says, and I swallow audibly. "I've known about you from the very beginning."

Those words do nothing to settle the rumbling in my stomach. I'm tempted to take my hand back but she holds on tightly. "Do you - do you hate me?" I ask hesitantly.

"Why would I do that?"

"I _hurt_ Rachel," I tell her, hating that those three words strung together aren't a lie.

"Do you hurt her _now_?" she asks pointedly.

I automatically think back to our brief relationship. It's only been a few months but I feel as if we've gone through so much already. I feel as if the worst _must_ be over. I mean, how much could we have to go through... besides coming out and facing society's opinions on that, of course? "Not intentionally," I find myself saying. "Not anymore."

"Because you love her?" she questions.

I _do_ love her, but that's not the reason I don't hurt her anymore. I don't hurt _anyone_ anymore. "Because I'm learning how to love myself," I tell her instead, and it's the truth. I'm a work in progress - I think I'll always be one - but I'm improving. Every day. I can feel it. As my shoulder heals, so do other parts of me; the parts _inside_.

"You are very special, Quinn," she says. "Rare and precious, and you are both very lucky to have found each other this way. In this life; in this way." She smiles dreamily. "It was written. It is fate."

And, suddenly, I see where Rachel gets her belief in all that destiny stuff. I've always wondered if it's to do with religion, but I know she's not particularly religious, though she believes in _something_. For some reason, I think Aunt Marianne and I could have endless conversations about life and love and religion, and the fact that this is the first time I'm meeting her makes my heart hurt. It's doubtful we'll have much time. She knows it better than I ever will.

She starts to tell me things: stories about her youth and about her love; anecdotes about her struggles and about her successes; and truths about sacrifices and acceptance. They're almost desperate words, as if she needs to say them before it's too late. I _feel_ how much of a hurry she's in; how she knows she's running out of time. She tells me things about life and about the future.

"I've seen it," she says. "I've seen the future." Her face gets closer and she reaches out to touch my cheek. "Don't fear the future, Quinn. She is in it, and you _will_ be happy," she says, seriously. "In life, and in love. You will be happy. I've seen it."

It's impossible, I know, but there's a part of me that believes her. She sounds so _sure_ , and I've always been drawn in by surety. I grasp at it, hold on for dear life, and I just know this woman wouldn't let me down. Because she _knows_. She knows what I've seen and what I've missed. She knows the way I've been sculpted and the way I see myself. All I want is to be happy, and she's telling me I can have that.

Even though she doesn't say it out loud, Rachel is a part of it. She'll always be. I just have to learn and grow, so I can be worthy of her love.

When it starts getting close to Aunt Marianne's time for bed, we start to bid her farewell. She holds onto LeRoy, Hiram and Rachel's hugs for far too long, clutching at them as if she knows it may or may not be the last time she sees them in this way. Rachel cries silent tears and grips onto my arm, even as I say goodbye to Aunt Marianne. I bend to hug her, feeling my ribs burn like they're on fire, and she holds onto me when I try to straighten.

"I've been waiting to meet you," she says again, and my heart beats that much faster. "I had to, to know you would take care of her when I'm gone."

"What?" I ask, but Rachel is already pulling me away.

Aunt Marianne smiles at me, wide and peaceful, and I understand. "Now, I can go in peace," she says.

And, for the first time in my life, I truly do _understand_.

I wish I didn't.

* * *

Saturday morning is an early departure, and Rachel is all kinds of cute in her half-asleep state and grumpiness. She's snappy and petulant, so I just kiss her and she instantly quiets. Hiram bundles us into the car, LeRoy gives me something for my anxiety about being in the car for an extended length of time, and then we're on our way to New York. Rachel curls up into my side and, within minutes, we're both fast asleep, only to be woken an hour later when we stop for breakfast at a neat little diner. I imagine we must look strange to other people, and I notice them trying to figure out how we all fit together. If I wasn't so uncomfortable with their stares, I would find their confusion amusing.

I mean, LeRoy is tall and African American, and Hiram is short and visibly Jewish. They're obviously together, though they aren't ever even slightly affectionate in public. Not like Rachel and me, and _we're_ a couple that consists of a tanned, half-Jewish girl and a blonde-haired, hazel-eyed _Barbie_. Put us all together, well, you're bound to get a few odd looks.

Rachel must pick up on my unease, because her hand slides onto my thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Are you okay?" she asks me as we study the menu.

I look up at her. "Hmm?"

"You seem... tense," she points out.

I just about manage to smile at her, setting down my menu on the tabletop. "I'm not used to people staring at us this way," I tell her. "But, I _am_ okay. It'll just take me a while to adjust to it."

She looks thoughtful, absently nibbling on her bottom lip.

"I think it's good for us," I add a beat later. "We're going to have to get used to it when we're out."

She blinks. " _When_?"

I turn my body to face her fully, our legs touching as we sit together on one side of the table in our booth. "I don't intend for us to stay hidden forever," I say, softly and seriously. I'm aware of her fathers sitting right across from us, pretending not to listen to our quiet conversation. "Do you?"

"No."

"Good."

She eyes me for a moment, reading my face to determine how well I'll receive -

And... she kisses me chastely, and pulls back just as quickly, her eyes staying on me and ignoring the world. Truthfully, I'm more concerned with her fathers than I am with the strangers all around us. I swallow nervously, and risk a look at her fathers, who are looking equal parts amused and proud.

"Feel better?" Hiram asks Rachel.

"Much," she says happily, returning her attention to her menu.

It's not long after that we're back on the road. I notice LeRoy eye me warily as the hours tick by, making sure I'm okay with the closed space. I haven't been in a car for an extended amount of time since the accident, and he's as worried as I am about how I'll react to it. I mean, I was _trapped_ in my own car, and there's a possibility that experience could manifest in an ugly way: heightened claustrophobia or panic attacks. My bet's on space-outs, but I seem to be holding up fine, considering. Rachel helps. She's properly awake now, and I don't think she's stopped talking since she ate her last bite of her vegan pancakes.

She's in the middle of telling me about a girl in her dance class when we make our second stop, which is mainly to fill up the car and stretch our legs a little. LeRoy and I go into the little store and browse. I buy a few postcards to send to Santana, Brittany, Kurt and Blaine and he purchases an oversized t-shirt for Rachel that says: _I MAY BE WRONG BUT IT'S HIGHLY UNLIKELY_. We share a laugh over it, and Rachel kisses both our cheeks when LeRoy gives it to her. She slips it on over her clothing, beaming at us, and Hiram snaps a few pictures of us before we continue on our way.

Rachel talks until she tires herself out and falls asleep against the side door. I try to distract myself with a novel but I start to get a headache and stop. I would text Santana but she and Brittany are probably at Cheerios practice right now. I envy them, but then I also don't. I miss the squad but I would much rather be here, wrapped in this family's warmth and care. It's Spring Break and, as far as my mother's concerned, I'm home alone while she visits my sister - with or without my father. It's nothing surprising and I'm trying not to think about it too much, but you'd think she would care enough to _wonder_ about me. And, really, if she claims to have such a problem with Rachel and me, then why is she just leaving me here to spend _all_ my time with her?

Not that I'm complaining.

I reason it's probably to do with Frannie. Maybe she doesn't want me to visit, which, I suppose, is perfectly fine with me. It's hard enough dealing with my mother without tacking on my sister and her Russell-Fabray-clone of a husband. It shouldn't bother me, but it does. It bothers me a great deal that I'm as insignificant in all their lives that my absence isn't noticed. Neither is my presence, but that's an -

"Quinn," LeRoy says, breaking into my thoughts. "Honey, are you okay?"

I blink a few times, coming back to the present. I notice my fingers absently drumming on my thigh, and I force them to still. I look at LeRoy, who's turned as much as he can in his seat to look at me, and I give him a sheepish smile. "Did I space out?" I ask.

"I think so."

"Sorry," I murmur.

"What were you thinking about?" he asks, ignoring my apology.

I swallow audibly. "My family," I tell him, practically whispering. "Well, my mother and my sister, mainly."

"What about them?" he ventures to ask.

I drop my gaze to my lap, where I'm picking at the denim of my jeans. "Is it weird that I miss them?"

"No," he says. "Of course not."

"I don't even know _why_ I miss them," I continue. "I don't _want_ to miss them. I mean, it isn't as if we actually _have_ relationships or anything, but..." I trail off. "I don't even know if I'm making any sense."

"Even if you're not, I think I understand," LeRoy says, smiling at me in a reassuring way. "I haven't seen or heard from my parents in _years_ , but I still miss them every day."

It's not the first time he's brought up his own family's reaction to his coming out, and he's always been very open about his experience. It's the reason I feel comfortable to ask him the question I do. "Was it _good_ before you came out?" I ask.

"Was what good?"

I bite my bottom lip. I've never intended to tell LeRoy and Hiram about my father's _ways_ , but I have a feeling they already suspect my childhood was less than ideal in that regard. It's amazing what a broken family can hide behind piles of money and fake smiles. "Your family life?"

His jaw clenches for a moment, and I see Hiram place a hand on his forearm in comfort. "As you know, I grew up in a Christian home," he says, and I nod. "I didn't give much thought to how strict my parents were until I got to high school and saw all these other children interact with their own parents. I mean, mine were hard, sure, but I knew they loved me... enough to push me to be the best I could be. They wanted me to have a better life than they had growing up, and I've always understood that. I didn't want to disappoint them, because they worked so hard for _my_ opportunities and _my_ standard of living. It's a lot of pressure and guilt to put on your child."

I just nod, understanding fully. I've transferred all that pressure to myself.

"I met a boy when I was a freshman in high school," he says. "I told you about him, I think. Robert Little. We became fast friends, spending all our time together. I noticed his disinterest in girls at around the same time I noticed my own, which was confusing for me. He was... affectionate, which can send mixed signals, but I didn't think too much about it, until it just clicked and I figured it out." He laughs humourlessly. "I was so naive, Quinn. Young and stupid and a little lost. When I figured out that I liked him; my brain told me that he _must_ like me back."

I automatically grimace, and he nods at the look on my face.

"I wrote him a letter," he says, and I hold in my groan. "A love letter, actually, and I poured my heart out like the child I was, and I waited for his response. I received none. It turns out he gave the letter to his parents, who gave it to my parents, and I was carted off to live with Aunt Marianne with the sole intention of _hiding_ me. They expected Aunt Marianne to _fix_ me, but she's always supported me, and her love was and has always been enough to overcome the holes the rest of my family have left."

I lick my lips. "Was it worth it?" I ask.

"I don't know if I can answer that question objectively," he says. "I didn't exactly make the _choice_ to tell my family. It was made _for_ me and, given the choice now, I don't think I would have come out at that time if I'd known it would result in being sent to live elsewhere."

I take a deep breath, suddenly unsure.

"Are you thinking of telling your mother?" he asks gently.

I run my right hand through my hair, wincing as a finger gets caught in a tangle. "I think she already knows," I say; "she's just doing a really good job of ignoring it. I suspect the alcohol helps."

He nods thoughtfully. "What do you anticipate happening if you do confirm it for her?"

"Truthfully?" He waits. "If she doesn't kick me out, I suspect she'll call in reinforcements, and my father will attempt to _beat_ it out of me."

The truth of that sentence hangs heavy in the air. LeRoy's eyes widen before they grow impossibly sad, and Hiram's grip on the steering wheel tightens until his knuckles are white. I don't want this revelation to be a big deal. It was when it was Rachel, because she got _all_ of it, but they've just received a confirmation of what they've probably known all along. I'm possibly a classic basket-case; a psychologist's wet dream, really.

"Quinn," he breathes.

"I don't think I _will_ tell her, but I think she's going to force it out of me," I tell him. "She'll make me choose. Family and religion, over Rachel and this _lifestyle_."

He doesn't say anything.

"On the surface, it's the easiest decision I could ever make," I say, my voice dropping in volume and I glance at a sleeping Rachel. "It's just that it's a decision that's _bigger_ than those two choices, isn't it? It's not just about family or religion or whatever life I choose for _myself_. It's bigger than that, because it's about Rachel. I haven't mentioned this to her, but I worry about her future and her career. She's barely even started, and I don't want to be the person who stands in the way of those dreams just because we happened to fall in love. I worry about how this would alter the course of her rise to stardom, and I worry if being with me will affect the roles and the opportunities she gets, because I know I could never handle it if she lost anything _because_ of me."

LeRoy sighs heavily, and Hiram's grip shifts again. "We worry about that too," he confesses. "As her fathers, we've worried about it from before we even decided we wanted children. She's suffered a lot because of the home she comes from, and that wasn't her _choice_. She never had a say in all of that, but she does now. She's chosen _you_ and whatever comes with that, which I think makes all the difference."

I press my lips together, thoughtful. "Is it ever going to be easy?"

He chuckles, despite himself. "There will be difficult times," he says. "It's that way in any relationship. But, the question is always going to be _is it worth it_?"

I look at Rachel. "God, yes," I murmur. " _She_ definitely is."

* * *

By the time we get to New York, the sun is already setting. It was a long drive and, despite the fact we've been in a car for _hours_ , we're all still exhausted. It's funny how that is, isn't it? We go straight to the hotel and check in before LeRoy suggests we just order room service for the night, and then go crazy in New York in the morning. As excitable as Rachel is about New York, she accepts the suggestion and snuggles into my side as we peruse the menu from the little sitting area of LeRoy and Hiram's room. Rachel and I are across the corridor in a similar setup, and this is already the best holiday I've ever been on.

Once we've ordered, LeRoy takes me across to our room to assess my shoulder and ribs and healing wounds. He checks my blood pressure, temperature and iron levels, and he questions me on my nausea and possible anxiety. I try to be as truthful as I can and he seems satisfied by my responses. Rachel is beaming at me when we return, and I get a kiss to the corner of my mouth when she stands to greet me.

I blink, unable to force away my discomfort at this type of affection in front of her fathers. She's pushing me, and I realise that maybe I _do_ need to be pushed. We're safe here, and her fathers are obviously okay with it. Which is why I lean forward and kiss her properly.

"What was that for?" she asks when I pull away.

"No reason," I murmur. "Just felt like it."

She eyes me skeptically, hands on my shoulders and body pressed against mine. My arm around her waist is keeping her there. "Everything okay?"

"Everything is perfect."

It's when the food arrives and we've settled into comfortable conversation that Rachel gets _that_ level of excitable that sees her voice rise in pitch and her smile widen into something that _must_ be painful.

"What are the plans for tomorrow?" she asks, lightly bouncing in her seat.

LeRoy and Hiram exchange an amused look. "Well," LeRoy says; "the plan is to have breakfast - "

"At Tiffany's?" Rachel interrupts, beaming at him. I'm more surprised that she doesn't have the detailed itinerary whipped out right now. It must be taking everything she has to leave LeRoy to handle the arrangements, and I find I love her just that bit more for even trying.

LeRoy rolls his eyes. "No, Sweetheart," he says gently. "We thought you and Quinn might like to do that yourselves one of these mornings." When Rachel nods, he continues. "We can have breakfast here at the hotel at, say, nine o'clock?"

There's collective nodding.

"We'll have the rest of the morning and the early afternoon to get reacquainted with the city, and then we're seeing our Broadway show."

Rachel squeals as if this is the first time she's hearing about the show. I mean, _she's_ the one who picked it. My girlfriend, everybody. She's going to make a fabulous actress one day. She's going to be amazing. She already is, and I can't resist telling her as soon as we get back to our room and we're getting ready for bed. I opt for a shower and, not to be outdone, she goes after me.

I fall asleep before she gets out, and I wake up to a face full of brown hair. Rachel is warm in my arms and I snuggle in closer, breathing her in and enjoying this moment. We're in a hotel room in New York City and she's in my arms and I can't imagine anything being better than this.

I'm wrong. So wrong.

Nothing can beat witnessing Rachel Berry in New York City when we head out Sunday morning. Just watching her experience it makes me feel warm and accomplished and _worthy_. I'm the one who gets to be here with her, and it means everything in the world. Everything excites her and every little thing makes her eyes light up. She always looks at me with that glint in her eye, with the widest smile and the happiest laugh. She turns to me and breathes in, expectant and excited, just waiting for me to catch on and share in her enthusiasm. I would do anything and everything to keep that smile on her face, so I squeeze her hand and smile, and I hug her and I even kiss her in the darkness of the theatre when we finally make it to the Broadway show.

Rachel holds onto my hand throughout the entire production. I look at her for most of it, watching her mouth the words and quietly sing the songs to _Evita_. She cries and she laughs and she squeezes my hand. At some point, she rests her head on my shoulder, and I've never felt so full and complete in my entire life. I know I should pay attention to the musical more, but I can't help thinking about the future. _This_ future. I can just imagine Rachel and myself coming to Sunday shows every weekend, and having dinner in the city and walking hand-in-hand through Central Park and kissing in Times Square and just _living life_.

Together.

This is what I want. All of it. This life, this girl, this _happiness_. I want it all, for now and for forever.

The sudden applause rocks me from my thoughts, and Rachel drags me to my feet for the standing ovation. I clap enthusiastically because it was amazing, despite my distraction. Despite my _epiphany_.

Rachel looks at me now, eyes shining and smile wide. "Is this real life?" she whispers, but I still hear her through the applause.

I slip my arm around her waist and kiss her cheek. "It's better."

* * *

When I first learned about NYADA, I did all the necessary research. I wanted to be prepared for the place that was going to be my girlfriend's home for the next four years. And, as much as I read up about it and saw all the pictures; I'm still not prepared. There's nothing particularly _beautiful_ about it - it's just a collection of buildings in New York City - but the mere idea that it exists and this is where Rachel will be schooling fills me with a certain sense of foreboding. Like, she could walk into it and just never emerge. Like, she could enter that building and find something and someone better. Like, she could disappear forever, and it could change her in whatever way.

I panic slightly, and LeRoy puts an arm around my shoulders as if he's suffering the same thing I am. We're going to leave her in New York, with all these people, in this place, and it's almost crushing.

"She's going to be okay," LeRoy says. "She's Rachel Berry - there isn't any other way."

I let out a light laugh, absently brushing away a surprising tear. What on earth?

Rachel is practically bouncing off the walls as we tour the campus. She squeals at the professional auditoriums and the state-of-the-art studios and other facilities. It's really quite something, this school, and I just _know_ Rachel is going to flourish here. She's going to love every minute of it. It's really the perfect place to help her get to where she wants to go, and I can't help wondering again if being with me is going to hold her back. Long distance relationships are... difficult, and I imagine our schedules are going to be off the charts busy.

But.

She's looking at me and grabbing for my hand and pointing out things: _that's where we'll have coffee; we can eat in here; ooh, they have a vegan menu... and bacon_. She's planning for _us_ , here, and I love her even more for it.

When we've finally exhausted ourselves walking the length of NYADA and back, it's still a glorious Monday afternoon and we start heading back to the hotel without discussing it. Rachel walks dutifully by my side but, when we near the hotel, she and LeRoy spy an antique shop that gets them both excited, and it's obvious they want to go inside.

"Hey, Quinn," Hiram says, gently bumping my hip. "How's about we leave these two to shop and you and I get some milkshakes?"

It's obvious he wants to talk to me about something and, as much as I want to spend time with only Rachel, I agree. Hiram kisses LeRoy's cheek, and Rachel kisses mine, and then we're walking. We're not entirely sure where we're going, but we just head down the street in search of something. Anything. We find it two blocks over. It's a diner, quiet for late Sunday afternoon, and we slip into a booth in the corner. A waitress - Faith - brings us menus and offers us coffee that we both decline.

My eyes widen at the selection of flavours of milkshakes, but I decide _immediately_. "Definitely _Oreo_ ," I say, and he grins at me.

"Do you think they can make them out of soy milk?"

I groan. "Hiram, no," I say. "Please don't do this. Just drink the milkshake. I've seen you drink milk before, you know?"

He laughs. "Don't tell Rachel."

Faith takes our order and we absently discuss the sights we've seen today. This is the second time I've been in New York and, the last time, we didn't really get the chance to see it. Between writing our original songs and failing to get them as polished as we possibly could in such a short time - again, Mr Schuester lacks proper preparation skills - we spent most of our time in the hotel with slave-driver Rachel and an irritated, annoyed Glee Club. I'm definitely not surprised we didn't place at Nationals.

When Faith brings us our milkshakes - he ordered a chocolate brownie flavoured one - we don't say anything for a few minutes, just enjoying the heaven. But, well, we did come out to _talk_ , even though I'm not sure what we're supposed to be talking about. Hiram does, though.

"So, what did you think of NYADA?" he asks, and my movements still.

I lick my lips. "It's lovely," I say.

"Can you see yourself visiting Rachel there?"

Without consent, I smile faintly. "I can, actually. It - it suits her."

"It really does," he agrees. "I've been worried about her being all alone here, but I think getting to see her in New York has really helped settle some of that. She just - she belongs here, doesn't she?"

"She always has."

He nods thoughtfully. "I noticed that you didn't say much when we passed by Columbia," he ventures to mention, and I close my eyes for a moment.

"It's just so close," is what I end up saying.

"It is," he echoes.

I take a long, deep breath to settle my stomach. "I assume Rachel told you I got into Yale," I say. Just saying the words out loud fills me with a rush of excitement and accomplishment. _I_ did that, and I'm going to be proud of it until the day I die.

"She did," Hiram returns, smiling at me in a way I've always wished my own father would. "I am so proud of you, you know? I couldn't quite contain myself, and I've been waiting to hear it from you."

I duck my head, sheepish. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long," I say. "It's just, all this talk of NYADA and - and we just passed by C-Columbia, so... yeah." I take a breath. "I got into some other schools as well," I confess.

His eyebrows rise. "Oh?"

"Most of them are on the west coast," I say, which is a half-lie. "And, well, Harvard."

If it's even possible, his smile widens. "Now, I know Rachel told me you were smart, but I didn't expect you to be this much of a brain-box."

I can't help my blush. "I surprised myself."

"You didn't surprise me."

Before I can think about it too much, I reach for his hand across the table. It's warm and shockingly soft. "Thank you," I say.

"I didn't do anything, Quinn," he says; " _You_ did." Then: "Have you told your family?"

I visibly stiffen, and take my hand back. I tuck my hair behind my ear and try not to show him that my hands are shaking. "No," I say. "I doubt they would care, and I won't have them taint my accomplishments with their ill thoughts and false words." I roll my eyes. "My mother would probably complain about it being too liberal a school or something ridiculous like that."

Despite the morbid conversation, he laughs. "She probably would," he agrees. "So, it's definitely Yale."

"To get the best of what I intend to study, yes, it's going to be Yale."

His eyes widen, as if I've just told him I bought him a puppy. "You've decided?"

I nod. "For right now, I've decided, yes."

He bounces in his seat, reminding me of Rachel, and I'm hit by a sudden wave of longing. I miss her. "Are you going to make me pry it out of you, or are you going to tell me?"

I laugh, and I suddenly feel _so_ happy. I miss Rachel, which makes me even happier, and I'm sitting across from a parent who genuinely seems to care about me. He's even interested in _me_ , which is something foreign and so wonderful that I might even start crying from all this happiness. "I'm going to study English," I tell him, my voice a little louder than normal. "I want to be a writer. I want to spend all the time I'm not loving and being loved by Rachel, writing. I want to create worlds and describe emotions and paint pictures with pretty, perfect words. I want to reach into people's minds and make them see what I see, just by using combinations and permutations of the twenty-six letters that make up my entire existence."

Hiram's smile is splitting his face. "Quinn Fabray, you are remarkable."

I blush like a fool, and then we finish our milkshakes and go back to the hotel. He places an arm around my shoulders, careful with my left one, and I've never felt as whole as I do right now. "Will you tell LeRoy?" I ask him, when we enter the hotel lobby.

"As you know, he already knows about Yale," he says. "But I can tell him the rest, if you'd like?"

I give it a bit of thought, and then eventually agree. I don't want him to sit on the secrets for too long, and the idea of them gushing about my accomplishments fills me with undeniable warmth. Just the thought of them being proud of me makes me irrationally happy, and I think he sees it on my face because he squeezes me to him as he presses the button for the elevator.

"Tell him," I say, jumping slightly at the sound of the bell signalling the elevator's arrival.

We're silent on the way up to our floor, and I fish for my key card when we step out onto the plush carpet. I absently wonder if Rachel and LeRoy are back yet but, if they're not, I wouldn't mind catching a nap. I've been getting a lot of sleep these days, and I feel as if I'm just catching up on all that I've missed throughout the years. My body is finally resting... and I didn't even have to stop breathing for that to happen.

I sigh, pushing the thought from my mind as I shuffle to the door to room 623. I'm aware of Hiram moving to his own door. He says something about dinner at seven thirty, and I just nod in agreement, slipping my card into the slot.

Before I open the door, I turn back to look at him. "Hiram?" I say.

"Hmm?"

"I might Minor in Drama," I tell him.

"Oh, Honey," he breathes, clearly amused. "You've been minoring in drama your entire life."

And, really, all I can do is laugh.

* * *

Rachel is sprawled out across the bed when I get into the room, tapping away on her laptop. We have quite a bit of holiday homework and, from the frown on her face, it's easy to tell she's not enjoying it at all. Though, she does brighten when she sees me, and she practically bounces onto her knees to give me a quick and tender kiss _hello_. That's really what our kisses have been: slow and somewhat measured. Don't get me wrong, I _love_ kissing her that way, but she's a little _too_ gentle sometimes, as if she's afraid of hurting me, and I really don't want her to be scared of _that_.

"What are you working on?" I ask as I slip off my coat and hang it over the armrest of the armchair.

"Discursive essay on the Dust Bowl," she says, sighing, as she resettles with her laptop. "How was milkshakes?"

I grin at her as I grab my novel from the nightstand and lie down on the bed opposite her. It takes me a moment to get comfortable enough for my ribs not to complain too much. "I told him I want to be a writer," I tell her.

She beams at me. "Oh?"

I nod. "He's - he's proud of me, Rachel."

"We all are, Quinn."

"Thank you," I murmur, smiling at her. Then: "Now, get back to work, so you can be done and we can do _other stuff_."

She raises her eyebrows. "Other stuff?"

I don't respond to her, lifting my book and opening it to chapter twelve. Rachel promised me a visit to The Strand Bookstore, so I didn't bring as many books as I would have on any other trip. I do still have my _Kindle_ , but there's something truly authentic about paperback. I hear Rachel huff quietly before she returns to her work. I smile faintly as I read the words before me, my mind drifting to the world this particular author has created. I get to the end of the chapter, when I get a thought that threatens to burst out of me.

"Do you know what I want?" I suddenly say, and Rachel looks up from her laptop, giving me her attention. "I want to be excited about a pregnancy," I tell her. "I want to see those lines on the pregnancy test and not be filled with dread and panic. I want to be so happy and joyful and dance around because _babies_ , Rachel. Babies."

She smiles at me. "Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me you want to have children?"

I find myself nodding, scrambling across the bed until I'm in her space. She carefully sets her laptop aside and I settle down on top of her, breathing in her air. "I want lots of them," I tell her.

Her eyes widen slightly. "How many is 'lots?'" she asks.

"I don't know," I say. "Four, maybe five. And I want them to have your eyes, and your lips, and your voice - God, imagine if they had your voice - and your hair, and - "

"Quinn, baby," she interrupts, her hands on my hips. "Are you saying you want to have four, maybe five children with _me_?"

I blink. "We might need help," I say. "Unfortunately, between the two of us, we don't really have all the necessities for conception."

She shakes her head, clearly resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "That's not what I mean."

"Oh." I pull back slightly, grinning at her. "Well, yes, I want to have all four, maybe five children with _you_."

"With me," she echoes, and then we're kissing. Fiercely. Dangerously. She's been so careful with me this past week, and I breathe a sigh of relief into her mouth when her fingers press a little harder against my body. It's not that it doesn't hurt - it does; seriously, it does - I just don't want her to be so afraid to touch me. _I won't break_ , I want to tell her, but now her tongue is doing things and this is the most alive I've felt since they pulled me out of the wreckage. Her hands, as insistent as they are, remain over my clothes, which, even in my addled, lust-filled brain, I definitely appreciate.

Regardless, _mine_ don't, and I slip them under her shirt to touch her skin. Most of my weight is supported by my right elbow - the left side is still suspect - but I'm just so relieved I get to _feel_ her: the heat of her skin, so soft and smooth under my fingertips.

Her fingers eventually find their way to my hair, and she lets out a moan when I drag my lips down to her neck. "I swear, if you leave a mark, I'm going to - " she stops in a gasp when I bite down on her skin and pull the flesh into my mouth. "Oh," she squeaks, eyes wide.

I pull back to look at her. "What were you saying?" I ask, faking innocence.

"Nothing," she says, pulling me back down. "Absolutely nothing."


	34. thirty-four

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _soon the moon will come from my lips  
_ _and you will not remember your name._

 _._

Tuesday starts early. We have a full day of sightseeing ahead of us and, of course, Quinn takes her time rolling out of bed and getting ready. She's turned 'lazy' since she hasn't had to get up early for school these past few weeks. She's in for a shock to her system when we get back to Lima. Granted, she's probably used to 'shocks' by now, but I try very hard not to think about that. I'm forced to kiss her awake and, with a few well-placed hands, she finally gets up. It's amazing what a little _touch_ can do.

When we're both ready, we meet my dads for breakfast in the hotel's restaurant downstairs. They're both jumpy and excited, and Quinn's grin is large and happy. We have a busy day coming our way, and I make sure Quinn eats more than enough, drinks even more than that and that she takes her meds. I notice my Daddy shooting us an amused look as I fuss over my girlfriend but I ignore it, in favour of kissing Quinn's cheek every few moments. Her features soften every time I do, and she just accepts my fussing.

Today, thankfully, there's an actual itinerary. Quinn's helped me curb _that_ aspect of my personality: my constant need for excessive planning. I mean, it still exists in some forms; _calmer_ ones, but she guides me, without even trying, and I'm able to determine when and where my particular brand of insanity is useful. Like today.

We go to Battery Park first. Quinn goes a little crazy on the ferry - she giggles like a happy schoolgirl and takes an endless amount of pictures - and my Daddy picks up the insanity when we're _inside_ the Statue of Liberty. I try to convince Quinn to wait for the elevator, but she insists she's well enough for the stairs. She's almost as stubborn as I am, but I really don't feel like having a debate over her health and recovery in front of a crowd of people. So, together, we climb. She moves slowly and her breathing is ragged - I don't know what she's thinking when, just a few weeks ago, her left lung couldn't even inflate itself - but we reach the top eventually. She's forced to take puffs of her new asthma pump when we reach our destination and I force myself not to roll my eyes at her stubbornness.

Quinn pulls me to the edge of Lady Liberty's crown and she stands behind me, her arms slipping around my waist and pressing my body into the railing. She's warm and present as she rests her chin on my shoulder and _breathes_. Just the sound of her completing one of her basest functions is music to my ears.

"It's beautiful," I murmur.

"It is," she agrees, her breath warm against my skin. "I think, having you here, makes it even more so."

I sigh, relaxing into her embrace.

She kisses the side of my neck. "Just so you know, I intend to tell you I love you in every new place we visit," she says, and I involuntarily shiver. "Every day, for the rest of my life," she continues; "I will tell you I love you. I will _never_ hesitate again. I will never make you doubt me again."

"Oh, Quinn," I whisper, sliding my hands over hers and linking our fingers. "I love you, too."

"Rachel," she whispers back; "I haven't even told you I love you yet."

"Then, hurry up."

She giggles, and her body vibrates against me. "And you claim _I'm_ the impatient one." Another kiss to my neck. "I love you."

I spin in her arms to look at her and slide my fingers into her short hair. I _love_ this hair. It's soft and silky and short enough to hold in my fists. "I like this view better," I tell her, my eyes roaming over her perfect, beautiful face, and she blushes. "I love you, Quinn. So, so much."

We kiss, slow and steady, eyes closed and in the moment. I don't want to think about the consequences or the looks or the prejudice. I just want to exist in this moment with Quinn because I love her; I love her more than _anything_. She pulls away first, her eyes staying on me, and her smile is bright. We've gone unnoticed or, if we haven't, nobody has said anything, and it's _beautiful_. She releases me eventually, and we snap a few pictures together, separately and with my dads. We forego advancing to the torch and head back down, instead.

Next, we go past City Hall, which is beautiful in its simplicity. It's just a building, but the very essence of it carries meaning. Quinn and I could get married in that building. We could get _married_. And, when Quinn tugs on my hand, kisses me quickly and whispers she loves me on the front steps; I just _know_ , one day, we will. We're already making plans, aren't we?

From there, we walk past churches and such beautiful buildings as we make our way to our next destination. Quinn's hand is warm in mine and she glances at me every few steps, because we both know where we're going.

Our visit to the 9/11 Memorial is sombre and elegant and the four of us barely say any words. The area itself is subdued and poignant, and Quinn doesn't drift very far from me. We try to read as many names as we can, and I feel the weight of all these lost souls descend heavily on my chest. At some point, Quinn moves to stand next to me, her fingers tracing over the letters of a certain name.

"Rachel," she whispers.

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry."

I look at her, giving her my full attention. "For what, baby?"

She breathes out. "It's moments like these that I feel the most guilt about my past thoughts," she tells me. "These people didn't _want_ to die, and yet they did. Giving up this life I've been given would've been so selfish, and I'm sorry."

I blink slowly, my hands cupping her cheeks. "Why are you apologising to me, Quinn?" I ask. She has no answer to my question. "It's not me who deserves your apology, baby. Nobody does."

"What am I supposed to do?"

I pull her into a hug, my arms wrapping around her neck. "Forgive yourself, Quinn," I whisper into her ear. "Love yourself."

Her arms wrap around my waist and I can feel her trembling. "I love you," she whispers back.

"And, I love _you_. Learn from me. I'm good at it."

It should be enough. I _want_ it to be enough, but we both know better. Quinn has so many things she has to work through and, as much as I want to help her, there is only so much I _can_ do, and we both know the truth of that. When my dads find us, we all share a group hug, and then make our way to Chinatown for lunch, which is an experience all in itself. There are just so many people and I clutch onto Quinn like she's a lifeline. It doesn't matter that she _is_.

We find a neat little restaurant, which is dark and musty and perfect. For a switch, I sit with my Dad on one side of the table, and Quinn and my Daddy sit on the other. I don't know why but it makes me feel unsettled and, once we've ordered - Quinn takes care of that for me - she and my Dad swap positions and I snuggle into her side, feeling comforted. Quinn presses a kiss to my hairline and my dads laugh at us. I don't even have it in me to care.

For dessert, we go to a bakery in Little Italy. Quinn is hesitant to indulge, given that she hasn't been able to participate in a full workout regimen. From what I've learned about her, her body and her body image is very important to her. She's struggled with it in the past and I suddenly understand her views on food and exercise now. It doesn't make me happy that she's calorie-controlled and self-punishing with excessive training, but at least it's been recognised as something on which needs to be worked. She does eat a canoli though. My Daddy manages to convince her.

"I can taste everything else when I kiss you later," she murmurs into my ear, and I let out a squeak.

We spend the rest of the afternoon in Washington Square Park, just enjoying the sunshine and slight chill. Quinn and I lie on the grass, fingers laced, and watch the clouds pass us by. We find shapes in them and absently discuss their formations. She seems more relaxed now, almost lazy. She's wearing her number nine smile, and I can't resist lifting myself onto my elbows and kissing her quick and slow, my lips lingering. Her content expression makes me feel warm from the top of my head right to the tips of my toes. She has no worries here, and it's such an attractive look on her.

We could have this life. We're _going_ to have this life. I'll do anything and everything I can to make sure we _can_ and we _will_.

For dinner, we find a hip little restaurant in the East Village. It's a light meal, because then we walk the streets and browse the many vintage shops and boutiques that we both know Kurt would _love_. When we pass by a tattoo parlour, Quinn and I exchange a look, and a slow smile spreads across her face.

"Would you ever get another one?" I ask.

She presses her lips together in thought. "I don't know," she admits. "Maybe."

"What would it be?"

Happily, she twirls me in the street and I giggle softly. "Probably a star," she eventually says, and the world shrinks down to this moment.

"Oh?" I ask, breathless.

"Oh," she echoes, as if she hasn't just said anything life-changing. Her attention is soon stolen by a souvenir shop, and all I can do is stare after her in wonder and appreciation and _love_. "Ooh, we can get more postcards for S and B." Even as she surges forward, her fingers stay locked with mine, dragging me along. We end up buying close to ten postcards, one for all the people we're really friendly with in Glee Club, and one for Aunt Marianne. Quinn is the one to remember her, and I just _have_ to kiss her for it.

We meet up with my dads again at an old-school bar that doubles as a performance space. Because we're with them, neither of us gets carded, even though I _know_ Quinn has a fake ID. Even if I hadn't seen it before, I know she must have needed one to get her tattoo. My Dad, Quinn and I slide into a booth while my Daddy fetches us drinks. Quinn and I are having virgin cocktails, and it's rather funny watching Quinn pretend not to know anything about alcohol. Gosh, my dads see straight through her.

My Daddy returns with a small tray of drinks carrying two low glasses with brown - Bourbon, probably - liquid, a virgin strawberry daiquiri for me and a mojito for Quinn. He passes out the drinks and _waits_. Quinn sips her drink first, swallows and then sets her glass down hard, eyes wide.

"LeRoy," she spits, somewhat accusingly, though she still manages to look pretty while she does it. "This _isn't_ a virgin cocktail."

My Daddy is a picture of innocence. "It's not?" he questions. "That's odd. Would you like me to return it?"

Quinn says nothing.

Cautiously, I sip at my own drink, unsure what to expect. When I don't taste any alcohol, just strawberries, I fight off my irritation. I mean, I _shouldn't_ complain, but I can't help it. "Wait, why does Quinn get to have alcohol and I don't?" I ask, pouting.

My Daddy looks deathly amused.

"I'm _older_ than her, you know," I remind them all, which just makes them all laugh.

Quietly, Quinn slides her drink towards me and lifts mine to her lips. She gives it a slow stir, and then takes a sip before eyeing me critically. "Baby, there _is_ alcohol in this."

I just stare at her pink lips, dumbfounded and unsure what to make of my own reaction.

"Rach," she whispers.

"You just called me 'baby,'" I find myself saying, ignoring my blatant inability to identify alcohol in such a heavy strawberry drink.

She blinks, suddenly uncertain. "Uh... do you not like that?"

"No, I love it."

"Okay...?"

I gently kiss her lips, tasting my drink on them, and then pull back. I swap our drinks back, and smile widely. Quinn hasn't really used terms of endearment for me other than 'dear,' and that's really only when she's trying to be funny. Besides the various monikers of the word 'star,' I think she's forcefully stopped herself, owing to our past with certain nicknames falling from her lips. I don't, for a second, think she'll call me any of _those_ anymore, but she might suspect I have a complex about it. I mean, I _love_ it when she uses my first name, so I definitely won't push it.

Quinn merely shrugs at my weirdness, and then takes another sip of her drink. I watch her jaw flex and her throat swallow and I have to remind myself that we're in public and my dads are sitting literally across from us. I can't possibly ravage her here, can I? We could go to the bathroom and make out for a few minutes. Or, a lot of minutes. I suddenly _feel_ things. Maybe it's the music in the background, the steady chatter of the other patrons, the alcohol in my system or just Quinn's presence, but I want to _do_ something.

I practically bounce in my seat when the emcee introduces the first performer. It isn't an open mic; the performers are actually booked to play. They're mainly singer/songwriter types, so Quinn is definitely in her element. Some perform covers, which is nice, but there's a lot of original music that speaks of pain and loss and love. There's a duo that comes on quite late, a man and a woman, who sing a song so painfully beautiful that it makes me want to cry, and Quinn takes hold of my hand and buries her face in the crook of my neck.

"I love you," she murmurs against my skin.

I tilt my head back, close my eyes and listen to the lyrics, letting them wash over me.

 _I don't want to fight no more_  
 _I don't want to hide no more_  
 _(You are)_  
 _I don't want to cry no more come back, I need you to hold me_  
 _(That you are the reason)_  
 _A little closer now, just a little closer now_  
 _Come a little closer, I need you to hold me tonight_

 _I'd climb every mountain_  
 _And swim every ocean_  
 _Just to be with you  
And fix what I've broken  
Cause I need you to see  
That you are the reason_

"I love you, too."

* * *

Quinn is awake first on Wednesday morning. She's hunched over the tiny secretary desk in the room, elegant and graceful as she writes in her latest notebook. Even though she was overwhelmingly exhausted after our day of sightseeing yesterday, she perks up when she hears me shift in bed.

"Good morning," she says, her eyes bright.

"Hi," I murmur, rubbing my eyes of sleep as I sit up to look at her properly.

"How did you sleep?"

"Wonderfully."

Her eyes twinkle. "Does that have something to do with me?"

"Don't you know by now that everything has everything to do with you?"

She giggles softly, her eyes rolling. "I love you," she says. "And you should probably get ready. I have a lot planned for today."

"Oh?"

She quirks an eyebrow, her eyes glinting. She looks so young and happy and I am so desperately in love with her, I can barely contain it. "We're going for breakfast," she says. "And I think you know where."

I laugh. "Subtle much."

"And, as I recall, you owe me a visit to a certain bookstore," she says. "And I want to visit the Met."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, because my girlfriend is such a little nerd. "Do I have any say in this?"

"No."

I fake a groan.

"But, if you complain as minimally as possible, I may or may not... buy you something special."

"So, now you're bribing me?"

She shrugs. "It's either that, or I'm going to offer you sexual favours," she says. "Decide now."

I run a hand through my hair, trying to smooth it down. "Quinn, baby, you can't say things like that to me," I tell her. "You know how I struggle with making difficult decisions. I can barely handle ordering my own food at a restaurant. Don't make it difficult for me. I love you and, if you love me, you wouldn't do this to me. Quinn, you can't. I'll spontaneously combust from the pressure of having to choose. You have to - "

Quinn bursts out laughing. "Jesus, Rach," she says. "Calm down. I'll give you _both_."

My face splits into a grin. "You will?"

"Don't act surprised," she scoffs. "You always knew I would." She rises to her feet and shuffles towards where I'm still in bed. She presses a kiss to my forehead, murmurs how much she loves me, and then disappears into the bathroom. It's a minute before I hear the water start running in the shower and I lie back down, feeling blissful. I don't know what it is but Quinn seems freer here, happier and _present_ , and it's making me feel giddy. This could be our life.

One day, she could be _free_.

I go into the bathroom as soon as Quinn steps out, kissing her cheek and doing my best to ignore the fact she's dressed only in a towel. Her pale skin is practically glistening, and I have to fist my hands to stop myself from touching. I do take note of the scar on her shoulder from the resetting. It's there but, if you didn't know it was, it wouldn't be noticeable. Modern medicine is a wonderful thing, really. My shower takes longer than expected and I take my time getting ready, but Quinn doesn't complain once. She just sits at the desk and writes, absently humming tunes to herself. Everything about this day is already perfect.

When I'm finally dressed to go, Quinn _starts_ to gather her things. I roll my eyes because this is a quirk about our relationship that, while I find annoying, I absolutely adore. Once _she's_ ready, we head out. My dads are having their own day out on the town and we're meeting them for dinner at eight o'clock at a restaurant in SoHo. Quinn's even going to let me navigate us through the subway to get there. It'll be good practice for when I'm here on my own.

Without her.

In just a few months.

Quinn slips her right arm around my shoulders as we head down the street away from the hotel. I get the feeling she's in a very lovey, touchy mood today, and I'm going to soak up as much of it as I possibly can. She points out things to me and kisses my temple and laughs freely, and this unburdened human being before me is honestly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. At some point, she takes out her phone to check _Google Maps_ , making sure we're going in the correct direction. When we get close to our destination, she pulls us into a _Starbucks_ , and makes me sit down at a table. She's ordering for me, apparently.

I wait patiently, my eyes never straying far from Quinn's form. She really is a work of art, even hidden away in her jeans and yellow peacoat. I think it's my favourite item of clothing she owns, apart from her Letterman jacket that I've been trying to steal since Christmas. She just won't budge, but I think she secretly enjoys the fact I try to get it from her a little too much. I'll convince her one day.

I watch for the moment Quinn reaches the front of the line. The college student behind the register seems enamoured by her - not that I blame him - but she's just focused on the menu. Poor guy doesn't even know he stands zero chance of holding her attention. She's taken, and she's gay. She's _very_ gay. Quinn points at a menu item, and then another before she shifts to the left to point to pastries in the window. I imagine she's picking out vegan options for me. For _us_. It isn't as if I haven't noticed that she sometimes _opts_ for a vegan option if there is one. I can try to kid myself as much as I want, but Quinn Fabray is too in love with her bacon to consider fully committing to the lifestyle.

Quinn quickly pays for our things, and then moves to the side to wait. She flashes me a grin and a dorky thumbs-up that I shake my head at but still return. She doesn't look like she has a care in the world. When the barista calls for 'Quinn,' she moves to get our drinks and then makes her way through the maze of tables towards me.

"This is a soy mocha frappuccino," she says, setting down one of the drinks in front of me. "I've also got our pastries to go. Are you ready?"

I nod as I rise to my feet. We link arms, and she leads the way. Honestly, I have no idea where we are but I trust her not to get us lost. She's good at Geography. One of us has to be, I suppose. I get a little excited when I spy the sign for 5th Avenue, and I turn shining eyes on Quinn.

"Don't act so surprised," she says, noticing my disposition. "We've got our danishes and our coffees, and we're heading over to 5th Avenue to have breakfast at Tiffany's."

I practically squeal. "Baby, have I told you I love you yet today?"

"Does it matter?" she asks coyly. "Tell me as many times as you want."

I kiss her cheek, and then sip at my drink. It's heavenly. Everything about this moment is just perfect. It's almost unreal in a way. I mean, I'm not naive enough to entertain the idea that our lives will always be like this but, if days like this _will_ exist in our lives, then we're going to be living great ones. Which is why I know I have to remember each and every one of these good moments, memorising every detail of Quinn's easy smile and gentle eyes. I want to burn the image onto the backs of my eyelids so I never forget.

After we've loitered outside Tiffany's finishing up with our breakfast, Quinn asks me if I want to go into the store. Before I can even protest, she's pulling me inside. I fight as much as I can, but she's too strong, and we end up inside, looking severely out of place. It's doubtful either of us could ever afford anything in here. And yet, Quinn is all serious with the man who _eventually_ helps us, and she asks all these questions, and she makes me try on sizes of rings and bracelets and there's a necklace too, and it's getting overwhelming, so I pretend one of my dads is calling and leave the store.

I don't go back inside, and Quinn is forced to come outside after almost twenty minutes.

"Okay," she says, waving her hands in innocence. "I did something? What did I do?"

I frown. "What did you _do_? Quinn, we were looking at _rings_."

She still looks flabbergasted.

" _Engagement_ rings."

She shakes her head. "Rachel, we were looking at ring _sizes_ ," she says. "I think it's something useful to know and, for your information, not _every_ ring in there is an engagement ring. Believe me, I'm _not_ about to propose to you, okay? We'll cross that bridge when we've both graduated from college."

All I can really do is stare at her because she's being completely serious right now.

"And, I mean, we're still so young, right? What do we know about marriage anyway? We aren't even going to be living in the same cities, and I'd really like to be able to sleep in the same bed as you when we're married, so there's - "

"Quinn," I cut her off.

Her eyes snap to mine.

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk to much?"

She rolls her eyes. "Pot, meet kettle."

I laugh out loud, absently reaching for her and burrowing into her. She wraps her arms around me, tightly. "I still can't get over the idea that you'd even _want_ to marry me," I mumble into her coat.

"Are you kidding me? Have you seen how smokin' hot you are?" she teases. "And, I mean, you're _bound_ to be famous, so I'm not completely selfless."

I giggle because I can't help it. She just makes me so happy, and it doesn't even seem like it's a chore for her.

"Come on," she finally says. "I can practically _hear_ the art at the Met calling my name. _Quinn Fabray. Quinn Fabray_."

"What am I ever going to do with you?" I ask, slipping my hand into hers as we begin to walk.

"Well... I suppose I could think of a couple of things."

* * *

If I didn't already know my girlfriend was a gigantic nerd, today would have proven it to me. I think, if she could have, she would have spent the entire day in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but the allure of the Strand Bookstore eventually has us moving. Really, if I didn't mention I was hungry, I doubt she would have remembered she needs to eat lunch.

Now, I love books as much as the next person, but Quinn Fabray practically worships them. I try to follow as best I can, but I'm relieved when she latches onto people who are also browsing the paperbacks. She lights up when she gets to talk themes and motifs with people who fully understand what she's talking about. Before all of this, I didn't even know this side of her existed. She's hidden it so well, and her _hiding_ is one of those things that still needs to be worked through. I don't ever want her to have to hide who she is again, and I accept that we _have_ to leave Lima first for that to happen. We have to get away from her family and her past for her to be _this_ : happy and bright and engaging and so desperately endearing that everyone who meets her falls a little bit in love with her.

By my count, she's been asked out a total of three times today: two men and one woman. She blushes like mad when the woman makes a pass, and I'm still teasing her as we head back to the hotel after dinner with my dads. They decide to stay out a little later, mentioning something about going to a gay club they used to frequent when they were younger. Quinn and I opt to head back to the room because we've had a full day and Quinn's eyes are drooping slightly. She puts on a good show but I can tell exhaustion is catching up to her now that her adrenalin is waning after the excitement of the day.

Quinn opts to shower when we get to the room, claiming that the New York subway makes her feel dirty. She _always_ smirks when I choose to do the same. What I don't expect is for her to joke about _sharing_ , in order to save water. I think my entire body flushes in response, and she just giggles and disappears behind the bathroom door. Now, it's not lost on me that we're alone in a hotel room. _Things_ happen in hotel rooms. I mean, we're not even back to doing _other things_ , so we definitely haven't brought up the topic of sex since the accident. If I'm being honest, I'm a little afraid to be the one who does bring it up. I mean, given the last time we 'discussed' it, I don't think I can be blamed for being wary.

I race into the bathroom as soon as she's done, not even giving her the opportunity to tease me with her wet, towel-clad body. _Sweet Jesus_. This shower isn't as thorough as this morning's, but I do feel much better - fresh and clean - when I finally climb into bed beside Quinn, and immediately get wrapped in her strong arms. She's turned off the ceiling light and the room is lit by a dim lampshade on the night stand. I feel myself relaxing into the mattress, letting my body embrace the comfort, and my eyes slip closed.

"Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

"So, I wrote something for you," she says, and I open my eyes immediately. "It's nothing special."

"Preemptive much," I comment, and she giggles. "Where is it?"

She reaches past me for a slip of paper in the drawer of the nightstand, and I try to contain my excitement. "It's a letter," she explains, pressing the paper into my hand between us. "I was just feeling _feelings_ , and I needed to write them down, so I could try to explain to you how important you are to me, and just what you mean to me, and just how much I love you. But - " she pauses here, and I hold my breath. "But, as I was writing, I figured out that there are no words. I could search through every language of this great big world, fit them together in poetry and metaphors and imagery, and still fall short of the mark. Rachel Berry, there are words in this world that feeble writers like myself will one day use to describe you, and they will fail. I will continue to fail, but I will continue to try because, my dear, you are a girl who deserves to be written about. Always."

And, I'm _already_ crying.

Quinn chuckles lightly, her breath washing over my face. "You haven't even read it yet," she points out.

"Is it going to make me cry?" I ask.

"Knowing you, probably," she teases, and I kiss her lips once, twice, before I unfold the piece of paper that looks to be neatly torn out of one of her notebooks and begin to read.

.

 _My dearest little star,_

 _Last night, I saw the future. For so long, it's been a foreign concept to me; this unattainable notion that I could somehow be free of my past and embrace my present. The future just seemed to be this dark expanse of missed opportunities and crushing disappointment, and I was resigned to the idea of the future belonging to anyone and everyone who wasn't me._

 _And then,_ you _happened. Your heart and your kindness and your laugh and your love. I'm convinced you've been happening to me from the moment I laid eyes on you, which, incidentally, is also the day I first heard you sing. I think back to that day and I wonder if, on some subconscious level, I knew deep in my soul that I would love you this way. Like, the very cells in my body, the haemoglobin, just knew that, in time, my heart would pump for you and only you. I like to think the deepest parts of me have always known I was meant for you, and you were meant for me._

 _It's written, you see. At least, that's what Aunt Marianne says, and I finally managed to figure it out too. I believe it. I know it._

 _The first time we kissed, I just_ knew _. I knew I'd never want anyone else ever again. I'd never felt anything quite like it; the feel of your lips on mine, the smell of your skin and the taste of your breath. I felt peace for the first time in my entire life; nothing like I find in books and music. I felt as if, after all my searching, I'd finally found_ home _. In you, and with you, and the perfection of that first kiss told me everything I didn't even realise I needed to know: that there's light to all this darkness, and that I deserve the light and I deserve you and all you represent._

 _I get lost sometimes - in my head, in my life and in my heart - but you always bring me back, like a shining star in the darkness, and I keep finding my way back to you._ _I get lost and I feel the weight of the world all around me, but_ _then I remember that you love me, and it's the only thing that truly matters. I look at you sometimes and I have to catch my breath. Because you're beautiful and perfect, and you're passionate and vibrant and talented, and the world spins on a different axis purely because you exist in it. Your smile and your laugh and the way you love me with all of your heart, it cracks my world in half and puts it back together again._

 _Believe me when I say, loving you, it's the easiest thing I've ever done in my entire life and, as you know, I have a tendency to make things very difficult for myself, and for others. I'm getting better. I want to get better. For myself, first, and then for everyone else. For_ you _. Because you're it for me. We can be happy. I'll spend every day keeping us that way, which is the very least you deserve._

 _Rachel Berry, you are the type of girl people write novels about, and I fully intend for the entire world to_ know _you through my words_. _I can almost imagine you expect it, the self-absorbed diva that you are. Everything I write is already about you. Rachel, you are in every word; in every sentence and paragraph. I love you. I love you._ _I am so crazy in love with you, and I honestly cannot wait to spend every single day of the future with you, filled with all the love and happiness I could only dream about._

 _Because, Rachel Berry, you and me, it's time we started existing in the light._

 _Love,  
Quinn_

 _P.S. Feel free to kiss me now, and forever and always._

 _P.P.S. Did I mention that I love you?_

.

Breathing steadily, I look at Quinn to find her eyes are closed, but there's the faintest smile on her perfect face. The wounds have healed, and the thin scars mostly blend into her pale skin. There are ones that exist on her left cheek, under her right eye and along the underside of her jaw, and those are the ones I move to kiss after I've set the letter aside and plunged us into darkness, my lips ghosting over her skin in an attempt to get her to look at me. I can feel her smile grow, but her eyes remain closed. I drag my lips along her perfect, glorious neck, sucking gently on her pulse point. She lets out a perfect puff of breath and she's it for me, too. She truly is.

"My future is _you_ ," I murmur, my teeth grazing her skin. "I want it _all_ with you, Quinn. I don't want it with anyone else. I don't think I ever will."

"I love you."

I kiss her skin again, and again and again. "Thank you for these words," I tell her, moving to kiss her mouth. "Thank you for staying. Thank you for being _here_. Thank you for wanting me. Thank you for planning for our future. Quinn Fabray, thank you for loving me."

She tastes sweet, her lips and her tongue, and she kisses me so delicately that I wonder if we're even kissing at all. It's almost a sacred thing, as if we're sealing our future together with this kiss. I shift again, wanting to get closer to her, and practically climb onto her, my entire body pressing against hers. She lets out a soft hiss - from pain or pleasure, I don't know and surprisingly don't care - and I feel her hands on the small of my back. She's holding me, her touch light, almost reverent.

"I love you," she breathes into my mouth, and I kiss her harder, _bruising_ her. There's meaning in this kiss that I can't quite fathom, and it's _Quinn_. She's here with me, alive and breathing and getting _better_. I can tell from the way her eyes stay focused for longer periods of time and her frowns and thoughtful silences are fewer and farther between. When she reaches out for me, it isn't for an anchor; it's just to touch _me_ , and I think that's been the biggest thing: she's doing things for herself; not for me. I love her even more for it, and it makes my heart ache a little, because she's far too beautiful for this world. She always has been, and I think that's the reason she sometimes believes she doesn't belong here.

I try to convince her. We haven't _touched_ since before Regionals - I think of that particular week as the week from Hell - and I'm craving the feel of her skin. I'm careful, my movements slow, as I slide my hands under her t-shirt. She's still healing, of course, but I _know_ where those bruises are and I carefully avoid them.

"Can I take this off?" I ask the dark, and she helps me remove the garment so as not to move her shoulder into an odd position. I meet her gaze because I've always been able to see the beautiful hazel of her eyes, even in the darkest dark. "I love you," I whisper, and then I kiss her skin. I trail my lips over the bumps and hills on the surface of her flesh, breathing life into her healing wounds. There are new scars to meet and I learn of them through my hands and my lips. For some reason, this isn't sexual. We're not moving towards something; I just want to worship the beautiful canvas that is her body. In the dark.

Quinn's eyes stay open and her breathing grows more and more jagged the further down her torso my lips move. My hands are resting on the tops of her thighs, and I realise belatedly that my breasts are pressing against her centre. Well. I pull myself back up and kiss her mouth again, my tongue sweeping inside and running along her soft gums. She's always been a phenomenal kisser, and it took me a while to figure out it's because she pays attention to _my_ pleasure as well as her own. From the get-go, she's always known what I like, which is why she's nibbling on my bottom lip right now. I let out a breathy moan, and I feel her smile against my lips.

I trail my hands over her bare breasts and she gasps softly. I kiss her neck, sucking on her pulse point as my hands touch and squeeze and massage. Her back arches and she presses further into my palms. I'm suddenly very grateful for the dark because I know I would cry if I could see how much more her body has been broken. I can trick myself into thinking she's whole now, my eyes closed and her staccato breathing in my ear.

"Rachel," she moans, and our legs tangle. My thigh presses against her and I get another hiss out of her. "Good, God," she says, and her voice is hoarse and decidedly _needy_. She wraps her arms around me, holding me close and I snake one hand into her hair as I press down against her. Her breathing is sharp, and she squirms to stop herself from seeking her own relief. "Oh, Rachel," she breathes and we shift again. When her leg settles between mine, I tug painfully on her hair. I _love_ it shorter; I really do. It doesn't take us long to fall into a steady rhythm that grows more and more erratic. She hisses my name and quiet curse words, her hands tugging on my t-shirt, and I scramble to get out of it.

The press of skin against skin almost sends me over the edge. It's delightful and painful and our thrusts are growing manic. I breathe into her ear, whispering how much I love her, telling her she's my future; she's my entire world. One of my favourite things about Quinn is the quiet way she comes. I don't know if it's her reserved nature or if it's just her body's response, but the few times I've been able to witness it have been breathy moans, tightly shut eyes and murmured words. Her hips buck once, twice, and I follow, shuddering, as a throaty moan escapes my throat. Her grip on my body tightens and she holds us close as we come down from the high. She presses kisses against my throat until I breathe out a sigh and roll off her. I snuggle into her side, and her arms are strong around me.

"Do you know how sexy you are?" I murmur, my fingers writing words on the skin of her abdomen. She has goosebumps, her muscles dancing under my ministrations.

Quinn chuckles, still a little breathless. "You make me feel sexy," she says. "Actually, you make me _feel_. A hell of a lot."

I press a kiss to her shoulder and look up at her. "Is that one of the reasons you write?" I ask her, because I've always been curious. I understand passions - mine is in music - but I've always wanted to hear about it from others. "Because you feel so much that you have to get it out somehow? Why do you write?"

She traps her bottom lip between her teeth as she thinks about it. "I've given this a lot of thought before, you know," she says; "and I've never really been able to come up with an answer other than 'I can't _not_.'"

"For someone so eloquent, that's not very _wordy_ ," I tell her, and she breathes a laugh into my hair.

"One day, I promise I will explain it to you," she tells me; "but, for right now, I'm certain you understand."

"I do," I say, pressing a kiss to her throat. "I really do."

"Sometimes, you're the only one who does."

And, I realise, as we lie here wrapped up together in a New York hotel room, that I live in Quinn's existence. My heart beats in her many smiles and in her gentle laughter, and in the way she traps her bottom lip between her teeth and in her blush that takes over her beautiful face. I live in the spaces between her piano-playing fingers and the silky strands of her hair. I live in the penetrating hazel of her eyes and in the undisputed way her entire being lights up when she gets started talking about the role of women in Literature. I exist in _her_ and, for the first time in my life, I'm not afraid of it. Because, when I lean over, press a kiss to her lips, and say, "I love you;" she says it right back, without fear and without hesitation.

"I love you, too."


	35. thirty-five

**Chapter** **Thirty-Five**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _i am the line.  
_ _on both sides there are songs in my name._

 _._

"God, I love you," she pants into my ear, her nails digging into my skin. "Jesus, Quinn, Jesus, _fuck_."

I chuckle despite myself, and then bite into the skin covering her collarbone. I know I'm going to leave a mark and I definitely don't care. I don't really care about much else other than making sure my legs don't give out beneath me and making sure Rachel finishes within the next minute. We've already been gone long enough to raise suspicion, and she isn't exactly being quiet.

"Why are you suddenly so vocal?" I ask breathlessly, pressing her harder against the bathroom stall with another thrust of my hips. Her one leg is wrapped around my waist, and we've been chasing release for a good few minutes now. My lungs are burning and the muscles in my legs are on fire.

"Mmm," she moans loudly, and I move to cover her mouth with my right hand. They're going to end up sending someone in here to investigate if we're not careful.

"Are you close?" I ask her.

She moves her head in a quick nod, and I increase my pace, hips moving, right hand over her mouth. I cup her breast over her shirt with my left hand, seek out her nipple and _squeeze_. As if I've just pressed a button, she falls right over the edge, and the heavy moan and subsequent bite to my fingers has me following her into oblivion. My eyes are tightly shut but I can still see stars. They're bursting in the dark, and the pleasure is so out of this world that I can barely convince myself to open my eyes to _see_.

Rachel runs a hand through my hair, prompting movement. "My underwear is ruined."

"We really should have planned this better," I mumble, finally detangling our limbs and stepping back. I'm flushed and uncomfortable and my breathing hasn't been able to slow enough for me to walk out of here without giving us away entirely.

"We should have," she agrees, straightening out. "I, for one, wasn't anticipating a _romp_ in the bathroom of the restaurant we're having lunch in, while my dads are waiting for us at our table."

I run a hand over my hair, trying to smooth it down. "Good God," I murmur. "Please, stop."

We spend another minute cleaning ourselves up, trying our best to get rid of the evidence of our arousal and illicit actions. Somehow, I just know Hiram and LeRoy will _know_. It might be because I can't stop myself from grinning like a dopey schoolboy, but there's nothing I can do about it. I probably, definitely, have nail marks on my back. At least those marks are a result of _love_. We fix our hair and makeup at the basins before we head out, our hands clasped. LeRoy and Hiram's conversation halts when we return to the table.

"You know, Lee, I've always wondered why women take so long in the bathroom?" Hiram asks LeRoy, conversationally.

"It is curious, isn't it?" LeRoy says. "It's almost as if they go to Narnia in there or something."

I blush, but Rachel just sits up straighter. "We _were_ in Narnia," she says. "But, really, should I find it worrying that you're both a little _too_ interested in figuring out what we women do in bathrooms?"

LeRoy lets out a full laugh. "Come on," he says. "Humour us. We have very limited experience with women. It just seems that you always travel in packs and you spend _eons_ in there. What do you do?"

Rachel licks her lips. "Well, we do the obvious, Daddy," she says. "Nature calls for women too, you know?"

"But it can't possibly take _that_ long," he presses. "Do you discuss the next coup d'etat or something?"

Hiram chimes in. "Or maybe they discuss their plans to take over the world."

"Or they pow wow about who's going to be offing who's husband."

It goes on for a full minute before Rachel snaps, letting out a growl. "If you must know, dear dads of mine, the reason _we_ took so long is because Quinn just gave me a _very satisfying_ orgasm," she says, and I practically choke on my latte.

Oh, my God.

She did not just say that.

I'm dreaming.

I _have_ to be dreaming.

Oh, my God.

From the completely shocked looks on her fathers' faces - their expressions must mirror mine - I can tell that Rachel Berry did, in fact, just reveal to her _fathers_ that we were just doing naughty things in the bathroom. Like, the ultimate naughty thing, and she said it so casually.

Rachel doesn't even look at all bothered by her revelation. "Now, have you decided what you're going to order?"

I keep my eyes firmly trained on my menu, trying to determine if I'll be able to get home by myself. I'll have to go back to the hotel first, pack my things, and then leave. Maybe I could fly to Columbus, and then rent a car... nope, not doing that. I could hire someone to drive me. Maybe Santana could pick me up. Somehow, I'm going to make my exit. Maybe they'll just ask me to leave, and we can all save ourselves the awkwardness of this entire situation, and we can all go on with our lives as if -

"Very satisfying, huh?" Hiram asks, his voice breaking into my space-out

Rachel hums in agreement. "Quinn is _very_ talented."

 _Oh, my God_.

I bury my face in my hands, hiding just how red I am. This has to be a dream. There is no way this is actually happening right now. Rachel is many things and I'm still learning, of course, but there's no way she would tell her fathers _I_ just gave her an _orgasm_. Surely not. I'm imagining all of this. Because, if I'm not, I need the ground to open up and swallow me whole. In fact, I want to go back in time to when we were standing at the top of the Empire State Building earlier today, and possibly jump. I mean, _anything_ to avoid this utter embarrassment. Doesn't she _know_ how I grew up? Anything _sexual_ is never to be discussed with parents. As far as they're supposed to know, we barely touch or kiss, and we definitely _don't_ sneak into restaurant bathroom stalls to get each other off.

LeRoy seems to sense my unease behind my embarrassment because he clears his throat. "Quinn," he says, gentler than I've ever heard.

I look at him, just as Rachel slides her hand onto my knee and squeezes gently.

"As I'm sure you've learned in the months you've spent with us, we're a very liberal family," he says. "We talk about things here, and we'll never judge. Hiram and I are under no illusions that you two don't get up to... certain things. We've tried to create a safe and open environment where our children feel comfortable enough to talk to us about _anything_. We're not sending you home, just because you happen to be sexually attracted to our daughter."

"Oh, my God," I groan, flushing instantly and dropping my head onto the table with a thud. "Please, stop."

Hiram lets out a light laugh. "I think she's officially a Berry now," he says happily.

I turn my head to look at Rachel, and she ducks hers to meet my gaze. "Why would you do this to me?" I ask, whining.

"Well, for starters, I just wanted to shut them up."

"Hey," Hiram complains.

"But I also want to be able to tell _somebody_ about this, because I am _so_ happy, and I am so satisfied, and there are no secrets between my dads and me."

I raise my eyebrows.

"Well, secrets pertaining to _me_ ," she adds quietly, because we both know there are many secrets about _me_ that we're both keeping from them. "Are you mad?" she whispers.

"Not mad," I say, and it's the truth. "Embarrassed, a little confused and very caught off guard. Couldn't you have discussed our physical relationship with your fathers when I wasn't around?"

"Oh, baby," she whispers, running a hand over my hair. "Now, where's the fun in that?"

* * *

It's always been a bit of a pipe dream of mine to walk the entire length of Central Park. Sure, we visited when we were here for Nationals last year, but we barely had any time to explore it. We had little time for anything, really. Except losing, apparently.

As you can see, I'm trying not to be sour about it.

LeRoy and Hiram walk with us for a while. Well, we _stroll_ , really, fingers threaded together and funny anecdotes passing through the air. We even feed a few ducks and play with little kids and their dogs. When Rachel's fathers eventually leave us, claiming to head back to the hotel for a short rest before we're scheduled to see our second Broadway show of the week, Rachel and I continue to walk. This park is just... magical. It's so full of _people_ and, as someone who finds it difficult to _express_ , I like to observe. And New York definitely isn't shy of characters.

"How are you feeling?" she asks me as we pass by yet another set of benches. I think she expects me to want to rest soon. I'm usually tired _just after_ I do the shoulder exercises Chris gave me, but I'm holding it together pretty well right now. Things _do_ hurt, but not enough for us to stop this walk I'm determined to have with her.

"Happy," I tell her. "I feel happy and light and free."

She breathes out, snuggling into my side. "And physically?"

"Just how mad would you be if I were to say that your worrying may or may not be giving me a headache?"

She gasps. "Quinn Fabray. I never."

I laugh out loud. "I love you."

"If you think telling me you love me is going to tide over your words, then I'm afraid you're mistaken."

I pull us to a stop and turn my body to face her. "'I love you' isn't some get-out-of-jail line, Rachel," I say, my tone more serious than I initially intended. "Besides Finn, I don't think I've ever said those words and truly meant them to anyone before. With you, everything is different. The very rhythm of my heart has altered because of who it now beats for."

She stares at me, mouth open.

I wait a beat. "Which, in hindsight, is probably _bad_. I mean, what if I've developed a heart arrhythmia and I could just collapse and die in the next five seconds?"

She launches herself at me, arms flinging around my neck and her tongue sliding into my mouth. We kiss, _hard_ , for a full minute before she pulls away, breathless. "Sometimes, I forget how talkative you really are," she murmurs against my lips.

"Pot, meet kettle," I whisper, my arms tightening around her waist. It's the first time I realise I've lifted her off the ground, and her feet are swinging happily. My shoulder _does_ complain but it's not uncomfortable and, despite the aching in my ribs, it's not enough to make me let go of her. "I love you."

She kisses me again, slower and softer. "I love you, too."

When I set her down, we start walking again, our fingers interlaced in that intimate way that makes my heart beat at that different rhythm: Rachel Berry's rhythm. I mean, it can't be healthy, but I really don't care. My heart beats for her and, if that isn't the most profound thing imaginable, then I don't know what is.

"I need you to tell me something," I say, serious and a little wary.

"Okay...?"

"I fully acknowledge my role in our actual breakup, but why did, uh, you need a break?"

She stiffens, and brings us to a stop, her gaze staying on me for the longest time. "Maybe we should sit down for this," she says, barely waiting for a response before she tugs me towards a bench and pulls me down with her. She keeps a firm grip on my hand, as if she's scared I'll run at the sound of whatever she's about to say. It's a possibility, of course, but I wish she wouldn't worry about it so much. I'm taking strides to alleviate that worry, but even I know it's going to take some time. I have things to work on, and so does she. We have things to work on together.

Rachel doesn't look at me for the longest time, and I don't hurry her. This has been a conversation that's been a long time coming, and we can't rush it. Well, if there's one way to get me to sit down; this is it.

"First," she starts; "I love you. Please never think I don't. I love you _so much_ , Quinn. More than I even thought I was capable of. I've - I've never known anything like this, and it scares me just how much I'm willing to _change_ to be with you."

"I would never ask you to do that," I hasten to say, needing her to know.

"I know that," she says. "Logically, and intrinsically, I _know_ that, Quinn. I was just - there was a lot going on, and I wasn't processing and I just couldn't stand the thought of ever losing you. I know it sounds silly and stupid and I hate myself for it, but I thought it would hurt less if we ended on _my_ terms, even though the last thing I wanted was to break up. I never wanted that."

I drop my gaze because _I'm_ the one who instigated the breakup.

She squeezes my fingers. "I just - I needed some time to _think_ and to assess where _I_ stood in our relationship. It was the wrong time and I did it all the wrong way, but I _was_ overwhelmed by everything I was feeling and my dream journal was doing shit-all to help me work through it."

I say nothing, just listening to her... ramble. It makes sense, but it also doesn't, and I don't know how to make that clear to her without breaking her... flow.

"I know I say this enough, but being with you _is_ overwhelming," she says, and I cringe. I _really_ hate that word. "For so long, I resisted it and _you_ , because I thought it was a bad thing. I mean, everything about this relationship is new to me. How I feel about you and how I feel about myself and this relationship; it's all _new_. I didn't feel anything like this with Jesse, and Noah is just a blip on my radar. But you, Quinn, you're _it_ , and I don't know if my eighteen-year-old self has fully accepted that yet. I was terrified of what it means, and how can I possibly even know? You're really my first meaningful relationship and, when you almost died, it almost _ruined_ me. You have this power to _break_ me, and it frightens me in a way that can't be healthy. I mean, is this what falling in love is always like?"

When I realise it's not a rhetorical question, I force myself to respond. "I wouldn't know," I admit quietly. "I've only fallen in love once before you, and I'm certain it never felt like this. It _is_ scary."

She takes a deep breath. "Needing to take a break was my being scared," she says. "It was my version of running, but it got out of control, and you were so angry and hurt, and I started to think that you deserved someone who wouldn't force you into revealing your feelings, and then your sexy firefighter guy was telling me the last thing you wanted out of this world was for me to know you loved me, and I - "

"It still is," I insert, and she gives me a withering look. "Sorry. Go on."

"And then, after what I heard your mother say, I freaked out," she finishes, huffing.

I frown. "What did she say to you?"

"Not to me," she says. "To your sister, on the phone, and I would much rather not repeat it, okay?" Her nostrils flare dangerously, and I force myself not to ask about it. My mother has been known to say some crazy things. "I freaked out and I grew silent, because I didn't even know what to say to anyone, even if I _could_ determine who I _wanted_ to talk to about it."

I blink. "You could have talked to me," I say. I don't mean for it to sound accusing, but it must come out that way because she recoils slightly.

"I _couldn't_ ," she says, slightly defensive. "How could I just talk to you about it, Quinn? You _saw_ the way you reacted when I brought it up."

I clench my jaw tightly, and then sigh. "You're right," I murmur, deflating. I've never made it easy for her, even when I've repeatedly asked her to inform me if it's too much. "I'm working on it."

She presses a kiss to my cheek. "I didn't know what to say to you, anyhow," she tells me, as if that absolves everything. "I know it doesn't seem like it right now - it probably won't for a while - but I still think we had to go through all these things to get to this point in our lives. Everything happens for a reason, right?"

I arch an eyebrow, silently questioning her new resolve.

She traps her bottom lip between her teeth. "Okay, so, maybe that's my way of making us both feel better," she confesses. "Aunt Marianne already told me a little _too much_ about the entire thing. I know I should have talked to you, and I definitely shouldn't have been distant because, whatever I was going through, I needed you and you needed me, and I know it now. As scary as everything is, life and death, coming out, falling head over heels and just _life_ in general; it's all doable because I have you. I have _you_ , Quinn, and I love you in that crazy, forever, I-want-to-have-your-four-maybe-five-babies kind of way."

I raise my eyebrows.

"Before you get into the logistics of it, _don't_ ," she says, rolling her eyes. "It's the thought that counts. I'm trying to make a point."

"The point has been made, Rachel."

"Has it?"

I breathe out. "I don't know," I confess. "I think we just need to keep talking about things. I don't want to stop talking to you, okay? Even if it's the only thing we ever do. I just want to spend my life talking to you. Loving you."

She exaggerates a sigh. "I suppose I could handle that."

"How kind."

"I love you."

I lean towards her and steal a kiss, my lips lingering. "I love you, too," I murmur. "Now, can we continue this walk? We have to cover the entire park before we head to Broadway."

She practically jumps to her feet. "Are you as excited to see _Evita_ as I am?" she asks.

"It's doubtful anyone _could_ be as excited as you," I point out, and she shoots me an amused look. "I'm just telling the truth."

"Never lie to me, Quinn Fabray."

I blink, my mind immediately flashing to a certain acceptance letter to Columbia sitting in the drawer of my nightstand. "Never," I whisper, and fight to rid my mind of its guilt. It's okay. I'm not exactly lying. It's not hurting her not to know. It's okay.

But. There's a part of me that wants to tell her. I mean, I know I have to, so I will. Just, not today.

Rachel eyes me cautiously for a moment before she puts out her hand and I automatically link our fingers. They fit so well together, and I entertain the idea that our hands were built to hold each other. They fit perfectly.

Like our bodies, and our voices.

And our hearts.

* * *

Friday is spent _shopping_. Now, I know my way around a good shopping excursion - it's part of the Fabray way - but Rachel Berry is on some other kind of level. She has a _plan_. She wants some things that are very specific, and she intends to get them. We are not allowed to fail. LeRoy and Hiram use _me_ to get out of accompanying her - they're evil, I tell you - and I get dragged through New York like a rag doll. I'm relegated to posing as a bag rack, and I have to carry her purchases from store to store. She's lucky I love her, really.

It's already nearly four o'clock when we get back to the hotel room, and we can't even rest. She gets to packing right away because we're leaving straight after breakfast in the morning, so that Hiram and LeRoy can have a day of rest before work on Monday and I can attend Easter Mass. I'm lucky she's so on top of things because, when it's just past five thirty, I rise from the bed and move to stand right beside Rachel.

"We're going out," I say. "We're going on a date. A New York one. So, you know, wear decent clothes, and be ready by seven thirty."

She stares blankly at me for a beat too long before she squeals. "Quinn Fabray!" She glances at her watch. "It's five thirty-six. Did you not think it prudent to tell me this _earlier_? This just isn't enough time. Oh, my God. What am I even going to wear? Quinn? Quinn? Baby, how could you do this to me?"

"Jesus, Rachel," I mutter. "It's not like I killed your ferret or something. It's _two_ hours."

She sputters. "What did you just say?"

"What?"

"Ferret. Why did you say that?"

I blink. "Uh, I'm pretty sure you once had ferrets."

She stares at me for the longest time. "I can't believe you _remember_ that."

"I remember everything," I say, shrugging slightly. "It's both a blessing and a curse, really."

She reaches out to touch me, her fingers playing with the buttons of my shirt. "Is it normal that I find myself falling more and more in love with you every day?"

"Yes."

"Oh?"

"Well, normal for _me_ , at least," I tell her. "I've been struggling with that problem when it comes to you for a very long time."

She giggles softly and steps closer to me. "I love you more than I loved you yesterday, and I love you less than I'll love you tomorrow."

I grin at her. "I think New York is making you sappy."

"I think _you_ are making me sappy."

"Guilty."

She leans forward and places a tender kiss on my lips. It's chaste, and she pulls back to smile at me, her gaze soft and serious. She just stares at me for the longest time, her eyes raking over my face as if she doesn't quite believe I'm standing right in front of her. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" she whispers.

I blush immediately, ducking my head.

"Do you?" she asks. "Do you have any idea what you mean to me?"

"Rachel," I whine.

Her right hand cups my cheek. "All of this, you, it all amazes me, and I find myself stopping just to take stock of how _happy_ I am. It's - it's _everything_. You are everything."

I let out a shaky breath. "Rachel, you're going to make me cry," I murmur.

Again, she just looks at me with those knowing eyes, and I stare back. It takes her almost a minute to snap out of it and practically gasp. She gently pushes me back. "Quinn!" she exclaims. "I have to get ready."

I can't stop my chuckle. "Well, I'm not stopping you."

"But you're distracting me."

"You're distracting yourself."

"Well, if your girlfriend looked anything like you; I can assure you that you'd be sufficiently distracted as well."

I arch an eyebrow, levelling her with a significant look. "If you think your girlfriend is distracting, then you should see mine."

It takes her only a beat of my heart to launch herself at me. Her mouth is hot and demanding against mine, kissing me hungrily. She likes to claim control of these kinds of kisses, and I'm more than willing to let her. Santana assumes _I'm_ the dominant one in our physical relationship, but she's wrong. I _do_ usually top her, but Rachel guides most of our makeout sessions and... other things.

Like right now. The force of her kiss makes me step back and, before I know it, I'm flat on my back on the bed and she's on top of me, straddling my hips. I just know she's going to come to her senses before we can get very far - she still has to get ready - but I try to get as much out of the kiss as I possibly can before she stops.

Her realisation comes far too quickly, and she practically leaps off me. "Quinn!" she reprimands. "Stop distracting me."

"I'm not _doing_ anything," I defend, sitting up on my elbows.

"Exactly!"

I chuckle as she steps back from the bed. "What am I supposed to do then?"

"Go next door," she says. "I can't even look at you right now."

"Ouch."

"Oh, please," she huffs. "Your ego is on such a trip right now. I can't seem to keep my hands off you."

"Rachel," I mumble. "What do you expect me to do next door?"

"I don't know," she says. "Bond with my dads? Tell them things? _Not_ distract me?"

I drop back down onto the bed and groan. "Why does my girlfriend have to be so high maintenance?" I mutter.

"Excuse me?" she screeches, and I scramble off the bed and as far away from her as I possibly can.

"Nothing," I say. "Nothing. I said nothing. I'll go next door."

Her eyes narrow into slits as I move around the room, gathering my things so I can get ready without having to deal with her ire. I mean, I'm about to take her on a New York date, and this is how I'm getting treated... kicked out of our room and everything. She tries to kiss me on my way to the door, but I dodge it and slink out, leaving her pouting. I don't feel too bad about it, and both Hiram and LeRoy are sympathetic to my situation. They both intend to go on their own New York date, and LeRoy and I exchange notes on the perfect romantic evening while Hiram gets ready.

When LeRoy goes into the bathroom, I keep my gaze focused on the television and Hiram practically dances around me. He has me pick between two different shirts for him, and then two different ties. Their anniversary is in December, but it's obvious they're keen to celebrate their love regardless. It must be easier for them in a place like New York as well. Going out in Lima is just anxiety-inducing.

LeRoy doesn't take nearly as long to get ready as his husband does, and they're both ready to go well before I'm scheduled to fetch Rachel from our room. I think they plan it well, so I can have free reign of their room to get myself all dolled up. Before they leave, they hand over something important, and I ask them for permission to order a bottle of wine. I like to think I might have done it either way, but I feel better that they _know_. It also helps that they agree. I walk them to the door and watch them disappear down the corridor.

As soon as they're out of sight, I rush back into the room, pen the note I've been drafting in my mind and then slide the piece of paper under Rachel's door. I hurry back into her fathers' room before she can even register the note's arrival. Just because we're in New York, doesn't mean I'm going to pass on our _date_ tradition. I'm actually rather smug about it.

 _Rachel Berry,_

 _Tonight, we're testing your threshold for romance.  
_ _Prepare yourself. I intend to woo you.  
_ _I love you._

 _\- Q_

I smile to myself just thinking about it, and then proceed to get ready. I'm wearing a long-sleeved, form-fitting burgundy dress tonight, and it takes me a little over half an hour to do my hair - gosh, I love that it's so much shorter - and my makeup. I go for a smokey eye, with a shimmer to my upper eyelid and a dark lip. It's simple. Rachel once told me she appreciates my natural look because it doesn't detract from my... face. She said 'beauty' but I'm sticking with 'face.'

At exactly twenty minutes past seven, there's a knock at the door. When I answer, the porter does a double-take, and my answering smile almost makes him pass out. "Are those for me?" I ask.

He blinks rapidly. "I believe so," he mumbles, and I step back to allow him to enter and set down my order on the small coffee table.

I reach for my purse and retrieve a few bills to hand to him. "Thank you," I say.

He smiles widely, his mouth opening to say something, but he snaps it shut. Good. I really don't want to have to engage in conversation with him, even if he is easy on the eyes. He has nothing on Rachel, though, and she's waiting for me. As subtly as I can, I usher him out of the room and close the door. I have only a few minutes to get myself ready, gather the bouquet of flowers I ordered and my clutch. I drape my coat over my arm, take a deep, calming breath, and then cross the corridor to the room I share with Rachel. I knock once, twice, and then step back to wait.

When Rachel opens the door, I feel exactly like the porter. I practically sway on my feet. "Good God," I murmur. "You look - you look stunning."

She blushes and ducks her head, and I use the opportunity to let my eyes roam over her body, clad in a dark blue dress that doesn't leave much to the imagination. I swear, I could stare at her all night, but we have appointments to keep.

"These are for you," I say, presenting her with the bouquet of red roses.

"Thank you." She smiles demurely and takes the flowers from me, spins on her heel and disappears into the room. I wait while she locates a makeshift vase and sets the flowers in water. She's very deliberate with her movements, and I honestly can't take my eyes off her. I'm patient, but it's fading fast. When she's finally ready, I offer her my arm, and we start on our way.

"Do you have an itinerary?" she asks while we're waiting for the elevator.

"No," I say, knowing it'll irritate her; "but I do have _so much_ planned."

She bites her bottom lip to stop herself from burying me in all the questions I know she wants to ask. It's cute. Honestly, she's adorable. "Fine," she eventually relents as we step into the elevator.

I chuckle lightly, lean over to kiss her cheek, and then proceed to show her the night of her life.

It's almost cliché. We go for a carriage ride, and we dance on the sidewalk to the music of smiling buskers. We kiss in the street and we're _free_. It's everything. She's still twirling in front of me when I glance at my watch. We have a reservation to make, and she pouts adorably when I tug on her hand and lead her to the restaurant. It's a fancy one, and Rachel falls silent when I say my name to the concierge. We get seated in the back, in the dim light, and I try not to feel awkward about it. We're both eighteen and we're on a date in the big city.

People don't even pay us any attention.

It takes her a moment to settle, and then she's back to her excitable, questioning self. She baulks at the prices, and I have to tell her repeatedly to order whatever she wants. It takes a bit of convincing, but she eventually agrees. Gosh, she can be difficult sometimes. She goes crazy over the many vegan items and, as usual, I have to order for her. I think she enjoys it a little too much, and secretly fakes indecision to make sure I do it.

Conversation is easy, and the wine definitely helps with that. It loosens us both up, and I have a sneaking suspicion she's going to be sporting a pretty nasty headache in the morning. We don't talk about anything serious until our dessert arrives. We opt to share a vegan slice of cheesecake, but she eats more of it than I do because I'm suddenly feeling nervous. There are things I have to tell her.

"I need to tell you something," I say, serious and soft, and the sound of my words seems to still her movements. "It's about my faith."

She looks at me, expectant but patient. "What is it, Quinn?"

"I lost it," I tell her. "When I found out I was pregnant and when I got kicked out and found myself crying myself to sleep alone in Finn's basement, I lost my faith in a way that I look back at and find embarrassing. I was _tested_ , and I failed. I failed at this test, and I lost myself and my belief and I had no faith."

She waits.

"But, every time we were in Glee, some of it would be restored," I explain. "And, even though I could never explain it to myself until now, you have always been a symbol of faith for me. An angel. A messenger that it will get better, if I just stay strong and persevere. When you sing, there's no choice but to _believe_ in life and love and heaven. The mere idea that you _exist_ makes me believe in God, and I feel it deep in my heart. I feel the truth of His presence, even if the words of the Bible have somewhat blurred for me." She must know it's because of my sexuality, my own sins and those of my family, but this isn't the important part. "You embody this grace, as if your voice is channelling the very voice of God, himself. And, I love you. I love you."

She stares blankly at me.

I nervously bite my bottom lip, steeling myself, and then go for it. "I bought you something," I say, reaching into my clutch. "Now, before you fight me about this, I _wanted_ to buy it for you. I've been thinking about it for a while. Probably since your birthday, actually, but now it carries more meaning, and I want you to carry my love with you the way I carry yours on my wrist," I say, referring to the _Nomination_ bracelet I would wear every day if Coach Sylvester wouldn't have a damn conniption. "I bought this for you because I _can_ , and I know it might be early in our relationship."

"It's not," she suddenly says.

I sputter, losing my flow. "What?"

"Nothing about our relationship has been _early_ or _too soon_ ," she says, as if this is something she's been meaning to say for quite some time. "We've always been tied together in the most profound ways, and I'm tired of thinking about us as young and new. We've been through too much together, and the fact that we're willing to face the prejudice and backlash of being in a same-sex relationship just to be _together_ must mean that this thing we have is real and true and, dammit, I'm going to marry you one day!"

I blink, and then smile. "Let it be known that Rachel Berry is a master at segue ways."

She looks utterly bewildered. "What?"

Without wasting another second, I bring out the little _Tiffany_ box I've had planned since we had breakfast in front of the store. I originally intended to have to go back to place my order but, when Rachel left the store, it was the perfect opportunity to burn through some of Russell Fabray's dirty money. Hiram and LeRoy were able to pick it up for me when it was ready, and the fact that they approve of me so much not to question my intentions means the world to me.

I set the light blue box on the table and begin my explanation. "Before you freak out, I am _not_ proposing to you," I hasten to say when her eyes get as wide as saucers. I don't really want anyone to see us, because I'm certain there's going to be hubbub about the mere _rumour_ there's an engagement ring floating around. "It _is_ a ring. It represents - God, this is so embarrassing - a _promise_ , Rachel. I _know_ what I want in my life now, and that's because of you. It _is_ you. I want you, now and for forever. So, I don't know how good I'll be at _everything_ , but this is my promise to love you to the best of my ability for as long as you'll let me. It's my promise to stop running. It's my promise to stay and love you and let you love me. It's my promise for forever." I swallow nervously, and open the box to reveal a white gold band. It's encrusted with tiny diamonds, with our birthstones - amethyst and tanzanite - as centre pieces, and she gasps at the sight of it.

"Quinn," she breathes, covering her mouth.

I remove the ring from the box, which I set in my lap to hide. I reach for her right hand, my own hands shaking. "I had it engraved," I tell her, and she has to see it before I slip the ring onto her finger. Wait. She _does_ want the ring, right?

Rachel reaches for the band and tilts it to read the inscription.

 _QUINN AND RACHEL - FOREVER LOVE, 2012_

She looks at me, tears pooling in her eyes. "Quinn," she whispers.

"I love you, Rachel Berry," I say. "I love you in ways I don't even yet know, and this ring means _nothing_ except that I want to plan and live and spend the rest of my life loving you in all the - "

She kisses me, her lips trapping my bottom one, and her breath is warm and she tastes so sweet. "Thank you, baby. This is amazing," she murmurs against my lips. " _You_ are amazing." She pulls back, and I slide the ring onto the fourth finger of her right hand. She stares at it for the longest time before her gaze meets mine. "This is _your_ promise," she says. "What about mine?" She blinks. "Aren't promise rings supposed to come in pairs?"

I fake innocence. "They are?"

She eyes me critically. "Quinn."

"Rachel."

"You also have one, don't you?"

I nod.

"Jesus, how much did they cost?"

I frown. "That's not a question you ask," I tell her, sounding exasperated.

"I know," she says. "I just - I don't know how to feel about your obviously spending so much money on me."

I reach for her hand and link our fingers together. "Give it time," I tell her. "You'll get used to it."

"Quinn," she breathes, tears in her eyes. "Is this real life?"

I lean forward and kiss her cheek. "It's better, little star. It's so much better."

She takes a long, deep breath, and then sits back. "Can we leave now?" she asks. "I _really_ want to take you to bed; possibly get you naked and have my dirty way with you."

My mouth goes dry instantly, and I swallow nervously. "Rachel?"

She levels her gaze on me. "I know we haven't talked about it since... _before_ ," she says. "We discussed the breakup and a lot of other things, but I skirt around the topic of sex just as much as you do."

I can't even look at her eyes when I speak. "As much as I want to, I don't think we _should_ ," I say, softly and carefully. "I mean, we can talk about it some more, sure, but I don't think _I_ can take that step until I sort some things out in my head first. I want to meet with my new therapist and get more settled... because, well, sex is - it's - "

She squeezes my fingers, showing me she understands.

"We can do other things though," I say. "I've been fantasising about _so many_ things, Berry."

"Do these things involve a bed?"

"Mainly a piano," I say; "but I suppose a bed will do."

She squirms in her seat. "Jesus Christ."

"Oh, Rachel Berry," I murmur, dropping my voice _low._ "He's definitely not here right now."

She squeaks - honest to God, _squeaks_. "Quinn, baby, if you don't get the check in the next two minutes, I'm probably, definitely, going to jump you right here in this perfectly lovely restaurant, and I'm _really_ not in the mood for getting arrested for indecent exposure."

"Stop talking," I grind out, flushing. "God, what are you trying to do to me?"

"Me?" she asks, incredulous. "What about _you_?"

I don't respond as I get the attention of our server and request the check, all cool, calm and collected. Rachel's leg bounces as we wait, and she says very little as I pay the bill. She doesn't even try to look at the cost, which I appreciate. We _did_ order a rather expensive bottle of wine.

And, when we get back to the hotel room, I order another bottle... _and_ chocolate covered strawberries. Even though I want to do nothing more than kiss her, for some reason, we don't. We rather just spread out on the couch, wine in our systems, and happiness in our hearts. It feels so easy and _right_ , and we don't even have to _do_ anything to enjoy this moment as we talk about all sorts of random things, from the best places to get sushi in Lima - she eats the vegan kind, which is just gross - to the best way to organise one's closet.

Rachel passes out from the wine first, her entire body pressed against my side, and I just watch her for the longest time, making the decision that this is what I want from my life. _She_ and all she represents... it's what I want. I'm sufficiently inebriated that this entire evening will probably be hazy, but I'm so sure. Breathing a sigh, I reach for my phone on the coffee table and dial Santana.

She answers on the fifth ring. "This better be important."

"Santana," I scream into the phone, and Rachel barely stirs. She's lost to the world in the kind of way that's going to result in a _terrible_ hangover.

"Jesus, Q," she yells back. "Are you _trying_ to burst my eardrum?"

"Santana," I scream again. "Santana. Guess what?"

She huffs in annoyance, but she's amused; I can tell. "What, cupcake?"

I giggle. "I'm happy," I tell her. "I am so happy, San. I've never felt this happy in my entire life. I'm happy, and I am _so_ in love and I am definitely going to marry this girl one day." I breathe out. "Did you hear what I said? San? Are you there? I'm going to marry her. I'm going to love her for forever. We're going to be happy. I'm going to be happy. San? Santana?"

"Quinn."

"Oh, there you are," I say. "I thought you left."

"I'm here."

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Every word."

"Isn't it neat?"

"Very, Q."

"I wish you and Britt were here," I say, pouting. "We could all be happy together."

"In New York?" she asks.

"Exactly!" I say, my addled brain running away with me. "Wouldn't it be _so_ cool if we were all here? Together? It would be... amazing! Just the four of us taking the world by storm and being _happy_ and in love and _free_. We should do that. Are we doing that?"

"We should," she says. "We _could_ , but you're going to Yale, remember?"

"I am?"

"It's what you decided."

"But," I start. "But then I won't be in New York with you guys," I say, and I feel tears prick at my eyes. "Are you going to leave me?"

"No, Quinn," she says, her tone gentle. "You're the one leaving us."

"What? No." And, now I'm crying. "No, San, no. We have to be happy together. We're going to be happy and in love, and we're going to get married and have lots of babies and live happily every after. We're going to do that, right?"

"Of course, Q."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"You won't leave me."

"I'll never leave you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Good."

"I love you, Quinn Fabray."

I breathe out, my chest feeling both heavy and light. "And I love you, Santana Lopez." And then I hang up... and pass out.

* * *

Rachel is definitely more hungover than I am. I've never really been one to hold my liquor all that well, but she's a complete lightweight, which means that she's grumpy and squinty and just all kinds of adorable. I kiss the frown off her face as we descend the floors in the elevator to meet her fathers for breakfast. Hiram and LeRoy look deathly amused by our evident discomfort.

"Rough night?" LeRoy asks.

"The _best_ night," Rachel says, squinting at her fathers.

Hiram rolls his eyes. "Does the hotel know they were facilitating underage drinking?"

"Do you want to ask that any louder?" Rachel whispers _loudly_ , panicked.

I cock my head to the side. "She's _convinced_ we're going to get arrested for something or the other in this city."

"Indecent exposure," Rachel grumbles, and LeRoy practically chokes on his coffee but it's almost as if Rachel doesn't notice. "I mean, I have brilliant self-control, but you two _did not_ see how hot my girlfriend looked last night. It's practically illegal for a human being to look that good. And she gave me a ring, dads. A _ring_." She shakes her head, as if she's trying to clear the fog. "I'm telling you right now that I'm going to marry her."

LeRoy looks _so_ amused. "Who, Sweetie?" he asks.

"Quinn," Rachel declares, bumping her shoulder against mine. "I'm going to marry Quinn Fabray."

"And what does this Quinn Fabray have to say about that?"

"She doesn't get a choice."

I raise my eyebrows. "I don't?"

Rachel turns to look at me, as if it's the first time she's seeing me. "Hi, baby," she says.

"Hi," I return.

"Will you marry me?" she asks and, if I wasn't sure she's probably going to forget all about this when the alcohol has fully left her system, I would panic.

So, chuckling lightly, I say, "Sure," and lightly kiss the top of her head. "Of course, I'll marry you."


	36. thirty-six

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _we lay in our country.  
_ _love makes us a homeland._

 _._

The atmosphere at school is different when Quinn finally makes her return. Despite her injuries, she's still wearing her Cheerios uniform, commanding attention with just her presence and the obvious short length of her hair. It's barely long enough to make the tiniest ponytail, but she hasn't bothered to try... not until she's back to her somersaults and sky splits, at least. Her sling has been gone for a few days, and she uses it only after vigorous therapy when the muscles around her shoulder are weak and tired. The two of us spent an evening learning the mechanics of the shoulder joint, taking note of the bones, muscles and ligaments involved. It's likely she'll have to have revision surgery in the future, but she's just determined to heal up enough to get back to her squad, so she can lead them to their second consecutive National title.

It's almost desperate at times. She's already secured her cheerleading and academic scholarships to Yale, but she won't put any of it in jeopardy, and she wants to go out with a bang. I don't begrudge her that. I do too. We _have_ to win Nationals with Glee and, now that Quinn is back and relatively healed, we can start planning for Nationals. I don't want another mess-up like we had last year in New York. This year, we're going to Chicago _prepared_. I still rage a little when I think about how slap-dash our last foray into the Nationals' world was. How could we be in the hotel _at Nationals_ and still be writing songs? Quinn's feelings on the matter mirror mine, which really solidifies the fact we're meant to be together forever. Ha.

Quinn is easily caught up in her classes. Santana kept her up to date on work and assignments while she was away, and it's almost as if she wasn't even gone. All she has to do is sit through an afternoon of tests and quizzes to ensure she hasn't missed any of the required testing to qualify for graduation. I have no doubt she's going to crush them - and us - all.

After a quick greeting at my locker in the morning, I don't see her until lunch. She's not in Spanish, and I can only assume it's to do with the time she's already missed. Maybe they're assessing her preparedness to slot back into class, or maybe she's being chewed out by Sue Sylvester for her hair or for her shoulder injury. Both, probably. I have no qualms she'll pull through all of it entirely unscathed. Quinn Fabray, HBIC, is _tough_. I, on the other hand, am faced with a dilemma. If one can call it a dilemma.

It's... something.

See, there are aspects of New York - particularly Friday night and Saturday morning - that are... hazy. Alcohol induced, of course, but there are things that are... confusing. And, as much as I want to, I don't want to bring it up to Quinn without being _sure_. I mean, I'm probably blowing everything out of proportion. It's just that there is a ring on my finger and I have a very grainy memory of a slurred proposal... of marriage. I spent all of the car ride on Saturday and most of Sunday trying to recall what I remember and what is just my brain dreaming up lovely but completely crazy scenarios. I haven't managed to come to any conclusions.

I find Kurt during my free period sitting on the bleachers by the football field. He usually spends it with Blaine, and I try not to read too much into the fact he's sitting alone, scribbling something in what looks like our US History textbook. As I get closer, I realise he's meticulously shading in a full-page image of the continent. Each state is a different colour; some even have coloured patterns. It must be therapeutic for him, and I absently toy with the advantages of taking up colouring to battle my sporadic bouts of anxiety and restlessness. It could prove worthwhile. Art therapy and all that.

Breathing a sigh, I approach him slowly, making sure he can hear the sound of my footsteps, in case I end up startling him. "Kurt," I say when I'm close enough.

He _still_ startles, dropping his yellow pencil and clutching at his chest. "Rachel, honey, warn a person," he says breathlessly.

"I made _a lot_ of noise, Kurt," I point out as I sit beside him and stare out at the green and empty field. "What are you doing out here?" I ask.

"Thinking, mainly," he says. "Hiding."

I roll my lips together. "Are things still awkward with Blaine?" I venture to ask, and his shoulders slump. Maybe 'awkward' is the wrong word. I suspect it's probably both the right and the wrong question to ask him, but maybe he needs to talk about it with someone. I know I would. I can be the soundboard he may or may not need.

"I thought Spring Break would help smooth things over," he begins; "but Blaine spent nearly all of it with his brother, telling me he doesn't get to see him nearly as often as he'd like to and I should understand why he would rather spend time with him. I mean, of course I understand, but I would have liked to spend time _some_ with him, even if it was _with_ his brother. It just feels as if he didn't want me around and, as much as I'm _trying_ to understand where he's coming from, I just _can't_. It's not as if I cheated on him. He's acting as if I've done something so terribly wrong and, really, if he wants to break up with me, then he should just do it."

"Kurt, no," I automatically say.

"I know, Rachel," he says tiredly. "I love him; I really do, but I won't be sidelined because _he_ can't seem to get over the fact that I may or may not attract attention from boys who aren't him."

I try to think about how I would feel if I were in Blaine's position; if Quinn were entertaining the idea of someone liking her. I just don't think the situation fits us because there is a plethora of people who like Quinn in some capacity. I do recall burning with jealousy whenever she engaged with the dopey boys, but what would it mean if it were a girl? And, how would it feel if one of those girls asked her out? I mean, I _know_ Kurt rejected Karofsky's advances, but I'm sure I would still feel affronted if I were Blaine... because Kurt didn't _tell_ him.

"Have you closed your eyes and put yourself in his position?" I ask, prompting him to do something similar to what he suggested to Karofsky when the two of us first visited.

Kurt stares at me for a moment, before he does close his eyes and breathe out through his nose. It lasts only a few seconds, though, and his own brand of stubbornness shines through. "No," he suddenly says. "It's obvious he doesn't trust me."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Okay," I say, giving up trying to help him. For now, at least. "Seeing as we're not getting anywhere with your relationship; let's talk about mine."

He shifts his textbook to the side and turns his body to face me. "That's the smartest thing you've said all morning," he quips. "So, how was your Spring Break?" he asks, grinning at me.

"Honestly, it was amazing," I tell him. "New York is fantastic, and Quinn is just wonderful. I can't wait until you and I are living there. We'll be able to wake up to New York City every morning, Kurt. I can't wait."

"Neither can I," he says enthusiastically, almost bouncing in his seat. "Tell me _everything_ you did."

I don't think I could possibly tell him everything, but I do cover most of it. We gush about the Broadway shows and practically dissect the music for half an hour. It's great to be able to talk to someone about the actual shows because, as much as Quinn is a music aficionado when it comes to her piano, she spends most of the shows looking at me instead of at the stage. It's endearing, really, but this is one of the reasons I need Kurt in my life, even if we do clash from time to time. We _are_ passionate divas, after all.

When I begin to explain Friday night, I grow warm with embarrassment. I'm not entirely sure why, but this _is_ the first time I'm talking about the mechanics of the daily wonder that is my relationship with Quinn. I've never really given _anyone_ details about the time we spend together, and the volume of my voice drops as I continue to speak. Kurt practically melts at the romance of it all, and I find myself turning even redder with every word I say. Quinn really _is_ a romantic, and I'm practically swooning until I get to the part that's really stumped me.

"So, I think I may or may not be engaged to Quinn Fabray right now," I say, and Kurt's eyes widen almost comically. "I'm pretty sure I was drunk... or hungover... something, but I distinctly remember asking her to marry me, and her saying yes. There were rings involved, and the details are pretty hazy and really jumbled up because my dads were there but also not, and there was _a lot_ of wine... but I definitely think I'm actually _engaged_."

Kurt waits a beat before he bursts out laughing, hysterically. "Are you being serious right now?"

"I'm being very serious," I say, producing my right hand and showing him the ring on my finger. The _wrong_ finger for an engagement, incidentally. It doesn't actually _look_ like an engagement ring, but it's definitely impressive, and Kurt's reaction is proof enough.

"Why is it so pretty?" he asks, eyes wide and mouth agape. "I can't stop looking at it. God, how much did it cost? I bet it cost as much as an engagement ring. Oh, my God, you're practically engaged!"

I can't help my laugh. Maybe coming to Kurt about this was the wrong idea. He's just going to fuel my disjointed memories about a proposal that I'm sure _happened_ but couldn't really. There's _no way_ I asked Quinn to marry me, and there's absolutely no way in hell she said yes. It was probably a joke, right? It can't have been real. I just, I can't stand the thought of Quinn knowing that I barely remember anything of Friday night beyond her ordering our main meals at the restaurant. I assume she said things to me - many, many things - and then I drank too much wine and now I can't remember the words or the reason there is a ring on my hand.

"Is it engraved?" Kurt asks.

"What?"

"The ring," he says. "Is it engraved?"

I immediately remove it, and we both dissolve into a puddle of sappy goo when our eyes land on the short inscription. "Oh, my God, I can't believe I let myself forget all of this," I grumble, suddenly feeling like the worst girlfriend in the world. I assume this gift was accompanied by Quinn's _words_ , and I've always been a sucker for anything and everything she says or writes.

Kurt looks sympathetic, before he smiles. "I never thought I would ever say this, but I think I want a Quinn," he says.

I frown. "What?"

"I mean, this is the kind of thing people do in relationships," he says. "Probably not to this extent, because this is a little bit insane, but Quinn makes the effort, and Blaine and I just don't do that anymore. We barely plan dates and it's exhausting trying to make everything fit and get it to work. There's no..." he trails off.

"Music," I finish for him, as I slip the ring back onto my finger. It fits perfectly, and now I know why Quinn insisted we go into Tiffany's to try on rings. She needed to get my size. She's a sneaky one, my girlfriend. "I think you should talk to him about it," I tell him. "If there's one thing I've learned from my relationship with Quinn is that proper communication is key. Not talking about things... it's toxic, Kurt."

The boy blinks once, twice, and then smirks. "So, does that mean you're telling Quinn about your missing memories?"

I groan, burying my face in my hands, and he just laughs and laughs.

* * *

"I need to talk to you about something."

Quinn visibly stiffens at the sound of my words, and I want to berate myself. Of all the things with which to lead, that's definitely the wrong one. Her gaze settles on me, and I suddenly feel two feet tall. God, I am an _awful_ girlfriend.

"It's nothing bad," I rush to say. "I mean, it kind of is, but not really." I run a hand through my hair and begin to pace the length of my room. I decided to wait until the end of the day, bypassing our time spent together during lunch and Glee, where Quinn just sat in the back and watched us with fond smiles. She held my hand while we were seated in the risers, completely nonchalant and unaffected. Kurt sent us an amused look, and I tried not to blush.

I failed, and then failed again to say anything when I drove her to physical therapy and watched Chris and her interact. They're the best of friends even though they've only had a handful of sessions together. Quinn glances at me every few minutes, smiling coyly. I think she does it to assuage _my_ anxiety at seeing the obvious pain she's in when she does a particularly strenuous exercise. It amazes me that, while she's grimacing and tearing up, _she's_ the one trying to spare _my_ feelings. How much love can there possibly exist in this world, really?

She was a little grumpy after her session and she didn't say much on the drive home. I knew it was her discomfort, and her arm was tucked away in its sling. She always looks so small when she curls up in her seat, head resting against the window and her eyes closed. Her breathing is usually steady, and it took me an absurdly long time to figure out that she works very hard to keep it that way.

But, it's after dinner now and most of Quinn's tension has dissipated. I think the painkillers helped... and food. She smiles a little goofily when she eats good food. I've labelled it her tenth smile; her _food_ smile. She's been working on her English Lit. essay for a little over an hour now, and I'm slowly unravelling. I have to tell her. I mean, I don't think she'll be mad, but I'm not looking forward to her disappointment. I've _tried_ , and I just can't remember what happened.

Right now, she's raising her eyebrows expectantly. "What do you want to talk about?" she asks, abandoning her essay and turning in my desk chair to face me.

"Quinn," I start, and then stop. I also stop walking, licking my lips. I don't even know how to say what I need to say.

"Rachel," she prompts.

"I love you," I say.

She lets out a breathy laugh, and I find myself thankful that she hasn't abandoned the sound now that she's so far into her recovery. "I love you too, Rach."

I take a deep breath, and then the words just tumble out of my mouth. " _SoIkindofdon'tactuallyrememberanythingthathappenedonFridaynightorSaturdaymorning_."

Her brow furrows. "Excuse me?"

Why is she always so eloquent? Couldn't she have just said ' _What_ ' like a normal teenager? I move towards her and kneel down in front of her, taking hold of her hands and squeezing her fingers. "We drank a lot of wine on Friday," I say.

She arches an eyebrow. Honestly, do her eyebrows ever sit still? "Actually, _you_ did."

"I did, yes," I say, giggling softly. "And I got drunk."

"And passed out."

I flush instantly. "That, I did." I press my lips together and swallow nervously. "I don't... remember much."

Her eyes narrow infinitesimally, clearly confused. It's adorable. "You don't... remember?" she asks. "What don't you remember?"

"Umm... everything?"

She releases my hands, straightening. "Everything?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. "I remember... bits," I say. "And I'm a little... confused."

She blinks. "Is this why you've been somewhat restless today?" she asks.

"I have?"

"I thought it was just about being back at school," she says. "But... this is about Friday night?"

I nod. "And Saturday morning."

"What about it?"

"What happened?"

She regards me carefully. "You don't remember _anything_?"

I bite my bottom lip, nervous and embarrassed. "I remember getting ready for our date, and I remember flowers and the carriage and the dancing, and I remember getting to the restaurant," I tell her. "I remember the food - God, it was so good - and I remember wine. I think I'm never going to drink again, by the way." I shake my head. "The rest is somewhat a blur."

"A blur?" she echoes.

"Quinn," I breathe. "Baby, I need you to tell me something important."

"We didn't have sex," she suddenly says, and I stare at her, horrified.

Oh, my God.

"Quinn, no," I say. "I would remember that, I promise, and I thought we agreed we wouldn't be drunk when that happened?"

"Then, what are you asking me?"

My heart starts to beat that bit faster. "There's a ring on my finger, Quinn," I say; "and I distinctly remember asking you a very specific question that you definitely couldn't have answered yes to."

She frowns. "Rachel?"

"Baby, are we engaged?"

Quinn waits only a second before she bursts out laughing. Loudly. She practically doubles over, clutching at her stomach as her body shakes from the force of her laughter. Honestly, if her cheeks weren't so rosy and her eyes weren't shining so bright; I would feel affronted. But she looks glorious and I don't think I've ever been this in love before. I can feel myself falling deeper and deeper, and it amazes me that there's more of a 'love hole' into which to fall.

"Quinn," I eventually squeak, and she laughs even harder. "Quinn, it's not funny," I say. "Are we or are we not engaged?"

She sucks in a breath, and then laughs again. "Are you being serious right now?" she asks.

"Quinn."

"Rachel, we are definitely not engaged," she says, finally taking pity on me. "It was just a joke, dear. God, is that what you've been worrying about? This is hilarious."

"No, it's not," I say petulantly. " _Quinn_."

She slides off the desk chair and moves to kneel in front of me, her body pressed against mine in the most delightful way. "It's not an engagement ring," she says. "It isn't even on the correct finger, Rachel. It's a promise ring. I _promised_ you so many things."

And just the sound of that makes me burst into tears. "I'm sorry," I say. "I'm so sorry. I can't remember."

"Hey, hey," she soothes, wrapping her arms around me and hugging me to her chest. "It's okay. They're just words, and I'll tell them to you plenty of times. As often as you want, okay? I promised you a forever, remember? I'll tell you every single day."

I bury my face in the crook of her neck. "Tell me right now," I murmur, miserable.

She chuckles lightly, her arms tightening around me. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

I press my lips to her skin, and breathe in her sweet smell.

"You are a symbol of faith for me," she whispers. "An angel. A messenger that it will get better; that it _is_ getting better." Her fingers press against the small of my back, and I sag against her. "Please don't cry," she says softly. "It's not your fault you can't handle your liquor."

"But I _want_ to remember," I grumble, pulling away to look at her face.

"Maybe it'll come to you," she offers, smiling faintly. "You'll remember."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I told you I'll tell you every day, Rachel," she says.

I breathe out. "Will you tell me about the ring?"

She leans back and takes hold of my right hand, bringing it between us. She gently plays with my fingers and twists the ring around. Her skin is warm and soft, and she's so focused on our hands. "I have one too, you know," she murmurs. "Only one of us can actually wear ours, and Coach Sylvester doesn't allow us to wear any jewellery with our uniforms, so it has to be you."

I drop my eyes to the cross hanging around her neck.

"Except for religious purposes," she adds when she notices my dropped gaze. "But, one day, I'm going to wear mine for the entire world to see, and I'll never hide you or deny you or shy away from our love ever again."

I don't even know what to say to her right now; not when she's saying words that reach right into my soul and engulf me in her love.

"The ring is a promise, Rachel," she continues, perfect and oblivious. "It's a promise to love you to the best of my ability for as long as you'll let me. It's my promise to stop running. It's my promise to stay and love you and let you love me. It's my promise for forever."

I stare at her for the longest time, mouth hanging open and tears pooling in my eyes.

She blushes under my scrutiny, ducking her head. "What?" she asks, bashful and perfectly innocent.

I lean in to kiss her, and it's all such a revelation but still something I'm sure I've always known. "It's just, well, now I know why I asked you to marry me."

* * *

Quinn is especially quiet when she gets back from her first appointment with her therapist, Dr Denise Clarke, on Tuesday. She just pulls me into her arms and holds me for the longest time as we stand in the entrance hall, before she heads upstairs and closes herself away in my bedroom. I give my Daddy a curious look, but he doesn't have anything for me other than _just be there_ , which sends me upstairs as well, my entire body tense with concern and apprehension.

When I get to my bedroom, I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to do. Quinn is sitting on my bed, her knees clutched to her chest and her eyes focused on a spot on my bedspread. She's rocking back and forth, humming to herself. Cautiously, I move towards her and sit down opposite her rigid form. She looks tense in a way that actually hurts to _see_. I don't try to touch her and I definitely don't say anything. I'm just going to sit here and wait. Quinn makes us wait close to fifteen minutes before her body relaxes, and another ten before she finally speaks.

"Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think I'm deserving of love?"

I blink once, twice, and then nod. "Of course," I say, trying not to let the oddity of the question catch me off guard.

She looks at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen on _anyone_. "Rachel, tell me the truth," she practically pleads. "Do you think I'm deserving of love?"

"Of course, Quinn," I repeat.

"If that's true, then am I deserving of _everything else_?" she suddenly snaps, and I flinch. She doesn't seem to notice, which is good, because this seems like something she needs to get out of her system, and I'm here to take it. She's in pain, and I would rather her take it out on me than anyone else... or herself. She gets up off the bed and starts yelling at nothing in particular as she paces, frantic and borderline manic. "All the pain and the hurt and the fucking abuse! Did I deserve all of that too? Because I deserve everything, right? Everything that's ever happened to me, I had it coming! Some kind of twisted karma for being such a sucky daughter and sister and friend and girlfriend. I deserve _everything_ for being such a fucking disappointment."

I wait, just letting it all unfold.

She looks at me, helpless. "He burned me," she says, sounding defeated and broken. "Once, when I was ten years old, he just took his cigarette and burned the inside of my arm for no other reason than I coughed too loudly while he was watching a football game."

It takes everything I have not to thunder out of my room, locate Russell Fabray and break a vase over his head. It's not fair. None of this is fair. Quinn is too soft and pure and kind and strong and wide-eyed and innocent for what this world has done to her; what that _family_ continually does to her. She deserves better. And, I think that's where she's hung up. If she deserves all the love and kindness we show her; does it also mean she deserves _everything else_? I don't know how to answer that question for her.

"Did I _deserve_ that?" she asks the room, and there are tears in her eyes. "I mean, my faith tells me everything happens for a reason. Everything in my life was always _fated_ to happen, written as part of His plan, and I believe it. I want to believe it, but how can I? How do I just believe that when - " her voice catches on a sob, but I don't move towards her. It burns to remain still, but I know she doesn't need my comfort until she's ready for it. "Did I do something? In a past life, did I do something so terrible that this is the punishment I've been handed? Tell me, what did I do? What did I do? Tell me, just tell me, what did I do?" She's practically pleading with me, but I have nothing.

 _Nothing_.

"Quinn," I whisper.

Her head snaps towards me, and it's as if she's seeing me for the first time. "Do I deserve it all?" she asks, and I know it's time for me to give her an answer.

"All of it, no," I say. "But love, yes."

"But how?" she asks; practically _begs_. "Why? Why is it different? Why am I deserving of love but not pain?"

"Baby, nobody is deserving of pain," I say, rising to my feet and moving to stand in front of her.

"Nobody?" she asks. "What about murderers and rapists and - "

"Quinn," I say, interrupting her. "Listen to me and listen well, okay?" Her eyes lift to mine, and she's hugging herself and looking so small and, God, my heart hurts. "I will tell you every single day that you deserve love and happiness and everything _good_. You deserve all the good in this world because you are good and true and pure and undeserving of all the bad this world has thrown at you." I take a deep breath. "But, look at you. Look at you. Do you know who you are, Quinn? Because, I do, and I see you standing right here in front of me, strong and solid and alive. Whatever you think you're deserving or not, you have _survived_.

"This is life, Quinn. It's the story of life. Nobody is deserving of pain, and everybody is deserving of love. You are born clear and clean. You are born empty of sin and deserving of love. That is how you are born and, unfortunately, some people are not afforded the same love throughout all their lives. This is life, Quinn. Sometimes, you luck out and sometimes you don't. I know you believe God makes no mistakes, so, yes, everything in this world must happen for a reason. I believe in fate, and I believe in destiny, and you are such a glorious, beautiful, complex person, and you are the person you are for a reason. Everything that's ever happened to you has happened for a reason and, whatever that reason is, you shouldn't care, because I don't.

"You deserve good things, Quinn, so the reason doesn't matter. The only thing that does, is that there _is_ a reason, right? That's what you believe, isn't it? You're here, and I love you and please believe me, Quinn. Believe me when I tell you that you deserve love. You deserve all the love and happiness in the world, and I'm going to give it to you because - " I halt. "Because you're the love of my life, Quinn, and I need you, okay? I need all of you: the good, the bad, the great and the ugly. I want all of it, and all of _you_. So, please, believe _me_. Hear _me_. I love you. I love you in an infinity way."

She stares at me, her bottom lip trembling. "An infinity way?" she asks, her voice small and shaky.

Cautiously, I step towards her. She remains stock still, and I brave wrapping my arms around her neck. It takes a moment but she eventually relaxes into my embrace. "A forever way," I whisper.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Please don't be sorry," I say.

"I know you didn't sign up for all of this."

"I signed up for _you_ , Quinn," I assure her; "and everything that comes with you."

She takes a deep breath. "Am I going to be okay?"

I can't help my grin, despite everything we've just discussed. "No, Quinn," I say; "you're in a relationship with me. Everything will never be okay." The chuckle I get is a far cry from the tears and the anguish of earlier, and the relief I feel is paramount.

When Quinn finally gives in to her exhaustion, I lie with her for a few more minutes, just stroking her hair and kissing her skin. She's peaceful and perfect and so tragically beautiful. I want nothing more than to sit here and watch her sleep for the rest of my life, but I know I can't. There's something I need to do. Slowly, I extricate myself from Quinn's grasp, ensure she's still comfortable and then head downstairs. I find my Daddy in the kitchen.

"I want her fired," I say, and he spins in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"That therapist," I hiss. "I don't want Quinn to see her ever again."

"Rachel - " he starts.

"No," I snap, stomping my foot, my tone fierce. "What kind of doctor would _do_ that?"

"Do what, Sweetheart?"

"Get her to talk about things, make her feel vulnerable and lost, and then just _leave her_?" I ask in disbelief, my emotions getting the better of me. "She's broken, Daddy. She's beyond broken, and I won't have someone who barely knows her just opening up her wounds and not bothering to wait or _help_ her stem the flow of pain and hurt and confusion. So, no, I don't want that woman anywhere near her again, because she comes home to _me_ , and _I_ have to hold her together. _I_ have to be the one to keep her above water; to make sure she doesn't slip further and further into the dark hole in which she believes she belongs.

" _I_ have to do that. _Me_ , Daddy! I'm the one who holds her when this world hurts her. I'm the one who has to dry her tears and assure her that she deserves to be loved; that her parents don't matter. I'm the one who has to bring her back to the light when the darkness threatens, and I won't let some woman just pick at her without giving her the necessary tools to ensure she doesn't just fall to pieces. I do that, Daddy. _Me_. I'm the one who takes care of her. I'm the one who has to deal with the aftermath. _Me_."

Before I know it, he has me in his arms and I'm sobbing into his shirt. My body is shaking, and I can't bring myself to stop.

"She's just - she's so broken, Daddy, and I love her. I love her so much and I'm terrified, every day. I'm so scared I'm going to lose her. I'm - I'm scared I won't be enough to help her; to - to keep her with me." My tears soak his shirt and he just holds me. Just the fact that I can turn to my fathers when I fall apart gives me pause, because Quinn can't turn to her own family. She turns to _me_. Hell, when she was falling apart after her breakup with Finn, she was literally roaming the streets with nowhere to go and nobody to turn to. Self-imposed, I know. She _could_ have called Santana, but even I know Santana wouldn't have offered her the kind of comfort she needed at the time.

Without even realising it, she needed _me_.

Eventually, my tears slow and I get a hold of myself enough to pull back and wipe at my eyes. I'm embarrassed and a little horrified. I'm also a little worried that I've revealed too much about Quinn's demons and how they affect our relationship. If I have, my Daddy says nothing. He just takes hold of my head and kisses my forehead, and then steps back.

"Help me make dinner," he says, and I do. He doesn't try to talk to me about my little breakdown. He just tells me what to do, and I chop vegetables and pass him things. It's easy and simple, and it affords me the opportunity to calm down enough to stay that way. The last thing Quinn needs is to see _me_ distraught when -

Just, _when_.

We just have to get through this part, find a rhythm and learn to live with the truths of our pasts and the promises of our futures. Suddenly, I'm immensely grateful we actually haven't had sex yet. I think Quinn needs to be in the correct head space for it. We both do. When the food is ready, and I've set the table, I go upstairs to wake our blonde cheerleader. My Dad is working late tonight, so it's just the three of us.

I'm quiet as I slip into my bedroom and sit on the edge of my bed. Her head is covered and she's curled into a tight little ball. "Quinn," I whisper, gently touching the protrusion that I assume is her shoulder. "Baby, it's time to wake up. Dinner's ready."

It takes her a moment but she eventually shifts, stretches and yawns, letting out the cutest mewling sound I've ever heard.

"Hey, you," I whisper, noting that her eyes are now fully open.

"Hey," she breathes, rewarding me with a tired smile. She's beautiful, even like this. _Especially_ like this.

"Did you have a good nap?" I ask.

Instead of answering, she pouts adorably. "I'm starving."

"Good," I say; "because Daddy made your favourite."

The way her entire face lights up completely floors me and, if possible, I fall even more in love with her. "Really?" she asks, propping herself up on her elbows and looking at me dubiously.

"Would I lie to you?"

Her expression turns dangerously serious, and her gaze is intense. "No, you wouldn't," she says. "You would never lie to me. I know that."

"I actually need to tell you something," I say and, yes, she stiffens, but she keeps her eyes on me. "I remember once thinking that I would and could easily follow you into the dark, but... now I know it's me who's supposed to lead you back into the light."

She reaches out for me and I automatically shift closer, resting my arms on her chest. "Are you sure?" she asks, uncertainty in her tone. "I've been nothing but a basket case in your life since I showed up on your sidewalk."

"You're mine, Quinn, and I'm _sure_ ," I say. "I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life." I lean forward and kiss the tip of her nose, getting an amused smile in response. "I want to share the light with you, Quinn," I say. "I want to share the sky and the sun and the stars with you."

She kisses my lips, deep and slow. "The stars?" she echoes.

"Yes, baby, the stars."

* * *

When Quinn decides to stand and rehearse with us during Glee, it takes everything in me not to tell her to skulk back to her corner and stay seated. Just having her twirling and laughing and enjoying the lesson shouldn't be giving me anxiety, but it does. I can tell that Santana isn't completely relaxed either and Brittany is hovering. The blonde cheerleader stands impossibly close to Quinn, even wrapping an arm around her waist from time to time.

Because Quinn isn't driving, she asked the Club if they wouldn't mind taking her to physical therapy on days when my fathers and I are busy or the Cheerios have practice. Several members jumped at the opportunity - particularly the boys - and I'm tasked with drawing up a schedule. Well, Quinn doesn't actually ask, but I do it anyway. I like drawing up timetables and making lists. We're actually the same that way.

So, Quinn is learning the choreography with us. Her movements are slow and I notice the sweat on her brow before she does. When her breathing rate rises, I hear it, and I'm tempted to shuffle closer to her, but I'm in front of the group with Finn. Even though the tall boy and I no longer see eye to eye - okay, so we've never seen eye to eye because he's so darn tall - we're almost always paired for leads. It's unfortunate how limited the talent is, sometimes.

We're in the middle of a run through of a Phil Collins classic when it happens. There's a high-pitched scream from Brittany that has me spinning around so quickly; I probably give myself whiplash. Before, I didn't quite understand why Santana was so shaken by witnessing Quinn's first fainting episode of this year. I mean, she looked genuinely traumatised by it. But I get it now. I fully understand it, and my stomach literally jumps to my throat when Quinn starts to fall. Her arms flail, reaching for something, anything, and then she just hits the ground with a thud.

The world stops and the room is silent for several beats. It's almost as if we're waiting for Quinn to get up and laugh it off, but she doesn't. It becomes painfully obvious to us all that she's not actually going to get up and it takes me another beat to get moving. I scramble towards her and drop to my knees near her head. Santana is on the other side and she looks panicked but decidedly more calm than I am. I think it's the idea that she was in a car accident that makes this more serious than the last time she collapsed.

"Quinn," I say, one hand on her shoulder and the other on her cheek. It's an intimate position, but I really don't care. "Quinn, hey, wake up. Quinn, please."

"Slap her," Santana says.

I stare at the Latina. "What?"

She shoves my hand out of the way and, somewhat unceremoniously, slaps Quinn's cheek. Once, twice, and Quinn sucks in a breath after the third one. I'm equal parts horrified and relieved, and I take Quinn's head in my hands, looking into her eyes. Her focus isn't quite there and she can't quite catch her breath.

"What do you need?" I ask, ignoring the world.

"Asthma pump," she rasps, as she tries to sit up, only for Santana to push her back down.

My head snaps up. "Get Quinn's bag," I bark, and Sam practically leaps over a chair to retrieve it. Any other day and it would be funny. Not today. Definitely not. When he hands it to me, I rummage through it, ignoring the sight of more notebooks and some of her heaviest textbooks. I find the pump in a little pouch at the bottom and fumble to get it out.

This time, when Quinn tries to sit up, Santana helps her, and between the three of us, we manage to get Quinn the required two pumps to help regulate the muscles of her lungs enough for her breathing to normalise. She offers me a sheepish smile, and I'm sorely tempted to punch her arm.

"Why do you insist on doing this to me?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Keeps life interesting."

I shake my head. "Can you get up?"

Before she can even try, there's movement to our left and the sound of a scraping chair. I bristle slightly when Finn moves towards us and scoops Quinn into his arms, lifting her as if she weighs nothing. He doesn't know. He doesn't even know he's carrying my heart in his hands. It hurts more because I know I can't to what he's currently doing. I _can't_ carry Quinn. I can't protect her from anything, especially _this_. Whatever this is.

Quinn squirms in his arms but eventually relents, her body tired enough to accept this help from the boy who broke her heart. She almost resembles a rag doll as her body sags, her head dropping to rest on his strong shoulder. Before her eyes can close, she reaches out her hand for me, and I take it. I ignore Finn and the great big world, my sole focus on one Quinn Fabray.

Really, I don't think it's strayed since that fateful Friday in November.


	37. thirty-seven

**Chapter** **Thirty-Seven**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _cruel mothers are still mothers.  
_ _they make us wars. they make us revolution.  
_ _they teach us the truth. early.  
_ _mothers are humans.  
_ _who sometimes give birth to their pain.  
_ _instead of children._

 _._

Rachel doesn't let me go to my house. It's not as if I _want_ to, but I just don't want to be more of a burden than I have been in recent weeks. My protests are useless, though, and I'm too exhausted to fight against my Quinn management team. They're relentless sometimes, and they're all so damn stubborn. Including Brittany. I swear, she's probably the worst of all of them because she _knows_ I can never say no to her when she turns those baby blues on me. Rachel brings out the pout, and Santana gets tender.

Really, I'm such a sucker.

Santana drives me to her house, so her father can take a look at me when he gets home work. I'm actually a little embarrassed by it all. I don't want them to have to worry so much about me, but I have to accept the fact that I'm powerless against it. Right now, at least.

The good news, I suppose, is that it's nothing more nefarious than my lungs deciding to take a little break as a result of dehydration and overexertion, though Rachel still looks worriedly stern and annoyed. It's not as if I _wanted_ this to happen. I've been keeping up with my diet and medication. I just... overdid it a little. When we get to the house, I'm sent up to 'my' room, where Brittany tucks me into bed and fall asleep to the sound of my fellow blonde singing quietly in my ear.

What feels like seconds later, I'm woken by Dr Lopez, who explains to me that I have to be more careful. It's one thing to worry about my shoulder, but it's my left lung that's always bothered him the most. I'm supposed to be more aware because there's a strong possibility I'll end up back in the hospital for exactly that reason. If the shoulder gives out, _fine_ , but if my lung does... well. He doesn't have to say much more than that. I don't know about anybody else but I tend to be a fan of breathing. Maybe it's just me.

"Get some sleep, Quinn," Dr Lopez says, his hand gentle on my forearm. He's always been very careful with me, never really touching me or raising his voice - as if he just _knows_. And, maybe he does. As a doctor or as a father, maybe he's _seen_ the trauma of an unloved child in my eyes. He sees _something_. "You'll feel much better when you wake up."

I have no choice but to believe him.

And, when I do wake up to a soft body pressed against mine, I figure that Dr Lopez has also never lied to me.

I _do_ feel better, but I can't be sure it's because of the rest or because of the warmth of Rachel Berry. It's probably both, but my brain is telling me the former and my heart is screaming the latter. She's not asleep, but rather fiddling with something on her phone and looking slightly put out.

"Hey," I breathe, getting her attention.

She sits up immediately, her eyes raking over my body to determine if I'm still in one piece. Once she's satisfied I'm not falling apart, she bends to kiss my cheek and whisper in my ear. "Why oh why do you insist on doing this to me?"

"It keeps things exciting?" I offer, raising one shoulder.

"If you weren't so damn pretty," she mumbles, shaking her head. "How are you feeling?"

I lick my lips, my mouth feeling dry. My chest feels a little tight, but I do feel better, and Rachel still looks skeptical when I assure her of that. "I'm telling the truth," I say.

"I don't think you're lying," she says, running a hand over my hair. "But, that's physically. Tell me about your mental state."

I blink. "I'm seeing the new therapist tomorrow, right?"

Her lips purse. "You are, yes."

"There are only a limited number of them in this town, you know," I point out. "So, you can't just keep firing the ones you don't like."

"I would send you to mine if it wouldn't be too weird," she mutters, and I slip a hand around her neck to pull her closer. I just want to kiss her, and she lets me. She crawls over me, careful not to rest any of her weight on my chest. She straddles my hips, her fingers in my hair as our mouths make music: perfect, wonderful, amazing music that I've never been able to get enough of. It's the greatest sound I've ever heard.

She pulls away from me with an audible sigh. "So, Britt insisted on making you another bacon burger, but Santana and I managed to curb her enthusiasm."

I pout. "So, no bacon then?"

"No to the bacon _burger_ , but yes to the bacon."

The grin I give her makes her giggle, and it's the sound I've wanted to hear _all day_. Her loose hair is curtained around us, and I can just make out the glint in her eyes through the light streaming in through the strands of her hair. She's perfect. She's absolutely perfect.

"Are you hungry?" she asks.

"For you?"

"For food, silly," she says, laughing as she kisses me again. Before I can even _attempt_ to touch her skin, she's climbing off me and completely standing. "Come on, let's get some food in you, and then we can make out some more."

"Promise?"

She shakes her head, amused. "I promise, Fabray."

The promise of time alone with her, without the heaviness of emotions and breakdowns, is what gets me through the evening. We do homework and have dinner - a salad with chicken and bacon for me - and then we sit in Santana's living room to watch a film. Brittany chooses _Annie_ , which, in hindsight, isn't the best choice for me but nobody can say no to her. Rachel just holds my hand tightly whenever the subject of being an orphan comes up, and I lean against her, soaking up her warmth. She softly sings along to the songs, and I rather listen to her than the film.

At some point during the penultimate chase on screen, Rachel leans over and presses her lips against my cheek at the same time Santana makes a gagging sound. I barely register it as I quickly turn my head and kiss Rachel's lips instead. She's surprised, but she smiles into the kiss, automatically moving to deepen it, and then _remembers_.

She pulls away suddenly. "Quinn!" she squeals, desperately wiping at her mouth. "Bacon!"

"Oh, shit," I gasp, eyes wide. "I'm so sorry... I completely forgot." I run a desperate hand through my hair, suddenly feeling like the shittiest girlfriend imaginable. "Oh, my God. What happens now? Do you have to like, uh, ask for forgiveness or something?" It's kind of a stupid question to ask because I _know_ Rachel's main reason for 'no bacon' is because she' a vegan first and 'Jewish' second.

She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, and my attention is drawn to the movement. "No, I think it's okay," she says. "I didn't really _taste_ anything. It was more the smell."

"I'm sorry," I say again. "I should just go and brush my teeth." I move to get up but she grabs my arm to stop me and I sink back into the couch cushions.

Without preamble, she brings her lips to my ear to whisper: "I don't know what it is, but there's something incredibly arousing about the idea of my being able to have my mouth on your body but not yours on mine."

I swallow audibly. "So, basically, you intend to torture me?"

"Exactly."

I stare at her, blatantly ignoring the film on the screen and the sound of Santana and Brittany not even trying to be quiet as they make out. Then, slipping a naughty grin onto my face, I say, "Do your worst."

She does.

* * *

By Friday, things have settled. Sort of. My new therapist is... okay. Less forceful than the last one, and she definitely doesn't _push_ for things I don't want to say. She lets me talk while she listens, and I find myself avoiding talk of Rachel. I mean, in all my life, I never thought that having a girlfriend in Lima, Ohio would be the least of my problems. It's almost a joke at this point. Nobody outside of a closed group of people knows that I'm... gay. I'm gay.

 _Jesus_.

Even though I admitted it out loud to Rachel, I don't know if I could admit it to anyone else. It just seems like the most personal thing about me right now, and I would rather have this stranger know that I lived in a less-than-ideal home than have her know I'm in love with a girl. I've yet to unpack that, so I hold off on trying to explain it to Dr Caitlin McMaster. It's really the most 'doctor' name I've ever heard, and she laughs when I tell her. She's younger, so maybe that helps, and she's new to Lima.

"Why on earth would you come _here_?" I asked in our first session.

"My husband," she responded with a shrug.

"Are you happy?" It was an important question for me to ask, given that I'm still toying with the idea of following Rachel to New York and attending Columbia. I would do it for her, even though I promised myself I wouldn't do things for other people. I just - would Rachel _ask_ me to go to New York if she knew? Am I doing us both a disservice by keeping it from her? I should at least give us the chance to talk about it, surely.

I've gone back and forth about it for days, _weeks_ , and my constant badgering is the reason I decide I _will_ tell her. I just have to find the right time because I'm unsure what kind of reaction I should expect from her.

"Most of the time," Dr McMaster eventually told me. "It's not what I would have chosen, but I love him, and this place is growing on me."

"And that's the first lie you've told," I joked. "This place grows on nobody."

She laughed, and it was the moment I knew she was going to be a good fit. At least for the last few months of my stint in Lima. Rachel seemed satisfied with my mood when I got back, and she's even more satisfied _right now_ , breathing unsteady and entire body flushed. She has me working on giving her the level of orgasm that makes her forget her name, and I seem to be failing.

"We both know the _only_ way that's going to happen," I murmur, pressing kisses along her jaw.

She props herself up on her elbows and I roll to the side. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, her voice serious.

"About what?" I ask unnecessarily.

"About sex, Quinn."

I shift awkwardly into a sitting position and give her my undivided attention. "What about it?"

She also sits up, reaches for her t-shirt and slips it back over her body, hiding her perfect skin. We probably both need it if we're going to concentrate on this conversation. "Not that I don't enjoy what we're doing now," she starts; "but there is a natural progression to this aspect of relationships."

"I know."

She presses her lips together. "Have you discussed any of this with Dr McMaster?"

I shake my head no.

"Okay," she says; "we'll revisit this discussion when you've had a chance to, okay?"

"Okay."

"In the mean time, we can keep doing this," she says, grinning madly, and then diving for me. I can't help my squeal, and the two of us spend majority of the weekend trying to outdo the other, and trying to get used to merely the _idea_ of the other's hand _down there_.

All I know is I'm definitely bringing this up in my very next session.

* * *

Dr McMaster doesn't look surprised when I bring up Rachel during our Tuesday session. She just writes something down on her yellow writing pad, and I try not to feel uncomfortable with having my confession immortalised. What if someone finds it? What if somebody learns the truth?

She speaks before I can devolve into mild panic. "Tell me about Rachel," she says, and I automatically smile.

"I don't even know where to start," I say.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" she suggests, and she clearly doesn't know how complicated my relationship with Rachel actually is. We have _history_.

"I didn't really know _who_ she was until sophomore year," I say. "As a freshman, I just tried to stay afloat; tried to prove myself to the cheer squad. There were certain... expectations to being a cheerleader, and I was... _mean_. I was cruel and awful and I'm so ashamed of it. I never really did much, other than say words, and get the boys to do my bidding. Rachel was one of those who got caught in the crossfire."

Dr McMaster writes more things down, and I shift in my seat.

"It went up a level when I took over the squad the summer before sophomore year," I explain. "I put a lot of pressure on myself, and I had a school to rule, and everything was falling into place and falling apart at the same time. I remember thinking that I was... unravelling. Things at home were... as bad as they usually were, and then _Rachel_. She set her eyes on my boyfriend."

Dr McMaster gasps quietly, and I almost laugh.

Like I said, we have history.

"He ended up joining this club, Glee, because of her, and it was obvious his eyes were straying. I got mad about it, and we ended up breaking up for a whole day. We talked it over, and I ended up joining the stupid club to be near him; to support him and keep an eye on him. I found out I was pregnant not long after, and, well, then shit really hit the fan."

I gloss over the pregnancy and the homelessness and the adoption. I touch on how Beth and my fall from grace forced me to reevaluate my path and the person I was trying to be. I talk about regaining my spot as Head Cheerio, and how I've worked so hard to keep the bullying to a minimum in school. It's hard work, and I've never been so thankful for Santana than in that specific endeavour. She can be cutting without even having to bring out the 'Lima Heights Adjacent' in her, and her threats are enough to keep people in line.

"In trying to distance myself from who I was before Beth, I think I distanced myself from _myself_." I bite my bottom lip, suddenly thoughtful. "I don't know. Something went wrong, and Finn - my ex-boyfriend - ended up breaking up with me." I laugh. I mean, it's actually _really_ funny, now that I think about it. "Somehow, I ended up at Rachel's house. I don't know how or why, but I did, and she..." I trail off, smiling wistfully.

"She what?" she prompts when I've been silent for too long.

"She's amazing," I say breathlessly. "She helped me through all of that, and we started as friends, but I don't think we've _ever_ been friends. We always clashed, and she likes to joke about it being misplaced sexual tension."

"Do you believe that?"

"I believe _something_ ," I say. "All I know is she's been the best thing to happen to me, and I know it hasn't been easy for her being with me, but I want to get better. I need to work on myself to love her the way she deserves to be loved, and - " I stop, sighing. "I didn't know love like this _could_ exist."

"It's the greatest lesson this life will ever teach you."

I'm tempted to roll my eyes, but I don't. "Honestly, I think this life has taught me one too many lessons, if you ask me."

* * *

Everything changes on Thursday.

It's almost as if my mother enjoys messing with my life on this particular day of the week. Joe's just dropped me off from physical therapy, and I'm stiff and sore, and the last thing I want is to have to deal with my mother and whatever new crazy she's wearing this week. I find her in the kitchen when I go looking for a snack, hoping to bide my time in silence as I wait for Rachel to get out of her dance class and fetch me. I couldn't exactly ask Joe to drop me off at her house, now could I? I suppose I could explain it, somehow, but lying is exhausting, and I'm tired enough as it is.

"Good evening," she greets first, speaking when all I've managed to do is skip a step at the sight of her. I didn't expect her to be at home, but I can't say I'm surprised. I just know she's going to talk to me about Rachel because Rachel's been coming around more than usual, given the fact that my mother doesn't seem to care about my recovery beyond the purchase of a new car and seeing to my medical expenses not covered by my insurance. I mean, I don't _want_ to complain, given that it's more than other people get, but it's all relative suffering, isn't it? I recognise _that_ , and I understand it, but it doesn't make it hurt any less that she's probably disappointed I didn't die; disappointed the car she bestowed upon me is the only reason I'm even alive and walking today.

"Hi," I say, somewhat tensely, as I move towards the fridge to retrieve a bottle of _Vitamin Water_.

"Where were you?" she asks, which gives me pause.

I drag my eyes away from the fridge door and look at her face. Is she serious right now? "Physical therapy," I eventually say.

She presses her lips together as she mulls over that. "How did you get there?" she asks. "I noticed that your car was still in the driveway. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen you drive it."

"My friend, Joe, took me," I tell her truthfully. Maybe she'll latch onto the name Joe. She's always been rather predictable in that regard.

"Joe?" she questions, which is unsurprising. "Who's Joe?"

"We're in Glee Club together," I tell her. "He goes to St Matthew's Church."

She blinks. "Oh." Then: "Speaking of... church."

I arch an eyebrow, expectant. I'm surprised it's taken her this long to bring up the incident at church. Reverend Jimmy even took me aside to discuss is when I did make my return. He did it to reassure me that I would always be accepted by _him_ and by God, so long as I chose to live a peaceful and love-filled life _with_ God. It seems somewhat conditional, but I try not to think about it. I've already _lived_ a life without God and without faith, and I'm not sure I want to go back to that.

"I need to talk to you about your... friend," she says.

I let out a long-suffering sigh and lean against the counter, bringing the bottle of vitamin water to my lips. I take a long drag, swallow and then level her with a glare that would make anyone flinch. But, in this house, it's just the 'resting Fabray face' and my mother barely reacts. It almost makes me smile. _Almost_. "Which... friend?" I ask.

"I suppose that is a valid question," she says; "because it seems all you do is spend time with those... sinners."

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her to get to the point.

"That little stunt you pulled at church hasn't gone unnoticed," she says.

"My... stunt?" I question. "Is that what you call those women essentially attacking us, just because I deigned to return to church after I almost died?"

Her eyes narrow. "Why would you bring _her_ to church?"

"How else was I supposed to get there?" I ask pointedly. "It isn't as if you were offering to take me."

Her jaw clenches. "I bought you a car."

"And you expected me to be able to _drive_ just _one week_ after I was released from hospital," I snap. "Are you crazy?"

"Why did you even bother to go to church?"

"Why _wouldn't_ I?"

"If you were so weak; why did you _insist_ on going?"

"Says the woman who dragged me out of bed with a hundred-and-four fever when I was _nine_ to sit through three hours of a sermon," I remind her hauntingly. "I _do not_ have to explain myself to you."

"As long as you live in this house, you do," she says, and there's that threat again. It hangs over us in the worst way, and I just wish she would stop stalling. Just kick me out already. Break my heart completely, so I can rebuild it without all the hurt and pain of an unloving family and a heartbreaking childhood. So I can be free.

Just, _let me go_.

"You don't dictate when I go to church," I say. "Not anymore."

"I am your mother."

"And we both know you wish you weren't."

We fall into charged silence, and her eyes don't stray from my face. I'm so tempted to look away, but I don't. Try as she might, I'm not backing down. I may be battered and bruised from _years_ with this woman and this family, but she won't beat me now. I can take _her_ , which is something I've never been able to do before. Before Rachel.

"Why do you insist on doing this?" she eventually asks, breaking into our impasse.

"Doing what?"

"Going against your religion," she says. "You _know_ that associating with _them_ will make you burn in Hell."

"Is that what your God tells you?"

"It's what _everyone's_ God tells us," she snaps. "Why must you associate with them?"

"They are my _friends_."

"Don't stand there and lie to me," she hisses. "Santana and Brittany may be your _friends_ , but I know _she's_ not," she says, and I swallow audibly. "That girl is _not_ your friend. Don't you think I see? Don't you think I _hear_ the two of you?"

I say nothing. She can't possibly be talking about _that_ because Rachel and I haven't done more than kiss and cuddle in this house when she's been here. Right? I've tried to make sure of it but even I know there's a possibility she might have come home while we were... busy.

"I don't want her in this house," she says. "I forbid you to spend time with her. With _them_. I won't have this family looked upon with disgust because of _your_ choices. Don't you think you've already brought about enough shame?"

"Shame," I echo, my heart twisting. "Shame? You think _I'm_ the one who's brought shame to this family? Have you looked in the mirror lately, _Floozy_? And where's your precious husband, huh?"

"Where's your bastard child?" she snaps.

I bare my teeth, slamming my bottle down on the counter. "Don't you dare!" I hiss. "Don't you dare drag my daughter into this! I know I've made mistakes and I've made choices, but I've grown from them. At least I'm not stuck in the past like you. At least I'm not some bitter old woman who's living vicariously through her older daughter and wishing her younger one would finally just bite the fucking bullet!" I'm breathless and _raging_. "I mean, do you even care that I could have died? Or would you rather I _had_ , so you can finally just get rid of me?"

She flinches, but it doesn't seem to register with me.

"Just hold on a little longer, Mom," I force out, dragging my bottle across the counter. "I graduate in a few months, and then you never have to see me again. I promise, it will be like I really did die, and you and your daughter and your ex-husband can all go on with your perfect lives without having to worry about the obvious _mistake_ you've been trying to hide from the moment you realised I would never be like any of you!" I can feel my entire body heat up with the level of my anger. "And, you know what, for so long, I turned myself inside out to be just like you; to fit the mould you all so painstakingly created for me, but I don't care about any of that now. I'm done. I'm finally who I am at my happiest and, if anyone is going to burn it Hell, it's _you_." I let out a rough growl, and then move to walk out of the kitchen.

She grabs my arm, her fingers digging into my skin. It's the first time we've even _touched_ since... I can't even remember. She's never been _violent_ with me - that was always Russell - but her nails are probably going to leave marks. "Where do you think you're going?" she grits out.

I rip off her hand. "Easy there, Judy Fabray, it's not in your nature to get involved, now is it? I thought it was your husband who did all the heavy lifting?"

Her eyes narrow.

"And, if you must know, I'm going out."

"With _her_?"

I level her with such a glare that, if it weren't directed at her, she would probably be proud. "Yes," I say. "With _her_." I take a breath to stop myself from lashing out. "Her name is Rachel, Mom, and, unlike you, she _loves_ me, which is an emotion I'm coming to learn you are incapable of." And then I do walk away, and she lets me. I rush upstairs to collect my things, and then exit the house and wait on the front porch for Rachel's arrival. My entire body is shaking from the encounter with my mother, and my mind is spinning.

It's how Rachel finds me. She practically scrambles out of her car, barely allowing the car to stop before she shifts into 'Park' and rushes to my side. She's a little breathless, probably from her dancing, but also from worry.

"Quinn, what happened?" she asks, dropping onto the step next to me and running a hand over my hair. "Baby, what's wrong? Are you okay? Why are you sitting out here?"

I don't even know how to answer her questions, so I just turn my head to look at her and make the one request of her I can muster. "Please can we just go home?"

Her back seems to straighten and her hand stills over my hair. "Of course," she says. "Of course, Quinn. Come on, let's go." She rises to her feet and pulls me to mine. We exchange no more words as she drives us to the Berry home. The radio is off and the silence is deafening. I can tell she has questions, but I honestly have no answers for her.

Her fathers greet us when we arrive and I plaster on a smile long enough to answer questions about therapy and school and Glee, and then I excuse myself, citing homework, and I go upstairs to her bedroom. I don't touch my books. I rather just crawl under the covers of her bed, hide my head, and _cry_. I don't _want_ to cry - it's the last thing I want to do - but I can't help it. I hate that my mother can do this to me; I hate that I let her.

I don't hear Rachel come in, but I feel the bed dip, and then the covers lift. She slides into the dark with me, and wraps me in arms that are both strong and comforting. She doesn't say anything, which I greatly appreciate, and we just lie together as my tears subside and my breathing steadies.

"Do you know who you are?" she eventually asks, speaking in a whisper. "Do you know who you are, Quinn?"

I know she can't see me, but I still shake my head.

"You're Quinn Fabray, Head Cheerio, Miss Four-Point-Oh GPA. You have killer friends, and you're popular, respected and totally hot." Her hands slide to my cheeks and she wipes my tears with the pads of her thumbs. "You're strong and confident, and you take no prisoners. You're getting out of Lima. Your parents don't matter."

I suck in a breath, this moment feeling all too familiar.

"You're Beth's mother," she says. "You're _my_ girlfriend, and you are so loved, Quinn. You are _so_ loved."

I turn my head to kiss her fingers.

"This is who you are," she says, her voice strong and confident. "I know it, and you know it, and nothing else matters. Your mother doesn't matter. Only you do. _We_ do. God, I love you so much, and I just wish this would all just stop happening to you. I wish I could make it better for you, Quinn."

"But, you do," I automatically say. "Every day, you make everything better."

She sighs. "I guess I just hate it when you cry."

"Believe me, I do too."

She chuckles softly, and I bury my face in her hair. "Whatever it is, we'll get through it together."

"Together," I echo.

"Because I love you."

I hum in content, temporarily setting aside the heartache from earlier. "You love me."

"I do, Quinn, I really do," she whispers, lifting the covers to allow the _day_ to shine in. "I promise, the light is so much better," she says. "Let me show you."

* * *

It's almost inevitable that I find my mother waiting for me in the kitchen when I get to the house from therapy on Friday. Honestly, I'm not even surprised. Given the way we ended our last conversation, I almost expect her to pick up right where she left off.

I'm not wrong.

"Good evening," she says, her eyes tracking my movement as I head to the fridge to deposit my leftovers from Blaine's and my impromptu post-rehab waffles. I'm definitely regretting not just asking him to drop me off at Rachel's house. I definitely could have just worn her clothes... but it's the weekend. I need my bag, and I definitely should have planned this better. The last thing I want is to engage in whatever this is... particularly after last night.

"Wow," I mutter anyway. "Two nights in a row. It must be some kind of record."

She bristles slightly, but she remains composed. "I expect us to finish the conversation we began yesterday."

I scoff. "Well, I expect a lot of things too. It seems we're both going to be disappointed." I know I'm being purposefully antagonistic, but I can't seem to stop. It's almost as if she's bringing it out of me.

"When did you become so rude?" she asks, almost incredulous.

"Probably around the same time you stopped talking to me," I say. "Isn't it funny, Mom? You made me this way."

"The Devil made you this way."

"Oh, yes," I coo. "He and I, we go _way_ back... he visits me by inhabiting the form of my father."

She has no idea what to say to that, so she steers us back to what she believes to be the issue at hand. "Did you spend the night with her?" she asks.

I narrow my eyes. "If you're asking if I spent the evening in a house where I'm loved and welcomed, then yes, I did."

Her upper lip twitches. "But this is your home," she says.

"No, it's not," I say. "This is just a _house_ ; not a home. _People_ make a home, and this is not a home. We both know I'm definitely not welcome here."

"Don't say that," she says. "Of course, you are."

"Oh no, Mom," I counter. "We're having such a nice conversation. Let's not start lying to each other now."

"Fine," she says. "Then stop telling me she's just your friend."

"Fine," I return hotly. "She's not. She's not _just_ my friend. She's my best friend, and she's my girlfriend."

She just stares at me at the longest time, her face blank.

"We've been together since January," I continue, the word vomit pouring out. This is it, I suppose. "I'm in love with her and, before you say anything, I _really_ don't care about your opinion on this particular matter."

She practically growls. "What about God's opinion?" she asks, her tone cold and calculated.

"God's opinion of me is my issue to deal with," I say; "not yours."

"What about this town?"

"What _about_ this town?" I counter. "This _town_ doesn't know and, even if they did, why should it matter to me?"

She looks lost for words for a moment. "Why _shouldn't_ it matter?" she suddenly snaps. "You are a Fabray."

"Stop that," I say. "Stop trying to claim me when you know I haven't been a Fabray since the first time you let your husband look at me and decide I would forever be a disappointment to the perfect family he envisioned for himself."

Again, she doesn't have the words.

"It seems you don't fit his ideal picture either," I say. "It's amazing, isn't it? It must burn to have something in common with me, isn't it? Seeing as I'm gay and all."

Her head snaps towards me. "Don't say that."

I raise my eyebrows. "What? That I'm gay?"

She shakes her head. "Stop saying that. You're not g - " she stops, unable to say the word.

"Gay," I say. "Gay, Mom. It's just a word. You can say it. You won't spontaneously combust if you say the word."

She glares at me. "It is a sin," she says, serious and tense.

"To you, maybe," I say, because I'm not naive enough not to acknowledge that, just because I've accepted myself in the eyes of the Lord, it doesn't mean that everyone will. I didn't expect my own family to accept it either because, really, if they kicked me out when I fell pregnant, I was _always_ going to be ostracised for being gay. It's not something you can sweep under the rug because it's not something I'm willing to suppress just for the sake of appearances. Not anymore. I tried that. I tried being the person everyone else has wanted, and I failed miserably, so I'm done with that.

"To the world," she presses. "To the church, and to God."

"Stop using God to hide behind," I snap. "This isn't about God, and we both know it. It's about _you_."

"But the Bible says - " my mother starts.

"I _know_ what the Bible says," I interrupt, irritated and _done_. "It says we must _love_. 'Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.' So, you don't get to stand there and preach to me when _you_ have no love to hide all your sins."

"Quinn," she says, and it's probably the first time she's actually said my name in _months_. It catches me off guard for only a moment, but then I _remember_ , and I see red.

"No," I say harshly, shaking my head. "No. There is nothing you can say or do that will make me not love Rachel," I say, and I mean every word. It strikes me as odd that I can say it so freely _now_. I love her, and I want everyone to know. Including this woman. I don't even care about the consequences. "Kick me out, freeze me out, try to _beat_ it out of me. Do your worst, Judy, because this _thing_ \- this beautiful, glorious _love_ \- that I feel for this perfect, amazing, caring _woman_ isn't just going to go away because you _will_ it to." I suck in a breath but, God, I'm not done. It's been building, and it's coming out _right now_. "I love her. I am so desperately in love with her and I know you'll never accept that. You've never accepted _anything_ about me, and I don't expect you to start now. I've been a disappointment since the moment I was born. I've never been able to live up to my father's expectations, and you've always been too fucking weak to protect me from his hatred and his anger.

"So, really, what did you expect? I received _nothing_ from this house. No love, and no compassion, so I went out there and I found it for myself. I found love and happiness in a place where I'm accepted for exactly who I am; who I've _finally_ allowed myself to be. I don't have you and Russell and Frannie looking at me with _that_ look, those crushing expectations tearing me apart from the inside out. I'm _finally_ happy, and I don't care what you or your hypocritical church-goers say!

"You want to talk about sinners." I laugh humourlessly. "What do you call a woman who sits idly by and watches her husband _beat_ her four-year-old? What do you call a _mother_ who drowns herself in spirits while her baby girl cries herself to sleep _every night_ because her parents don't love her; because she'll never be good enough; because she'll forever be Lucy Caboosey and she'll never know happiness? What do you call a woman who just _sits there_ while her husband kicks her child out of the only house she's ever known, because of _one_ mistake? A woman who just stands in silence while her husband _hits_ a pregnant teenager? You want to talk about sins, Mom, tell me what you call those!" I scream. "I don't care what you think of me but, if you think what I've done in _my_ life is a sure ticket to Hell, then you're on the same fucking train as I am. Just because you wear pretty dresses and go to church and say your prayers doesn't make you any less of a sinner than me, or Rachel, or her fathers. In fact, if the worst they've managed to do in their lives is love someone so fiercely that they don't see the _body_ , then they're better people than we'll ever be, and _everyone_ knows it!"

She just stares at me, wide-eyed and silent.

I deflate instantly. God, this isn't what I wanted out of my Friday evening. "We're just _people_ ," I say, tired and defeated. "Despite what you think, Rachel and her fathers, _me_ , we're normal people, who love _exactly_ the same, only different." I take a deep breath. "I _will_ leave," I say. "I've been counting the days, and I will finally give you what you want."

Her eyes widen slightly, and it gives me pause.

"It _is_ what you want, right?" I find myself asking, and the little girl in me is grasping wildly at her silence, and it just makes me hate myself a little bit. It's the only reason I'm still standing here; still _trying_. It's the only reason I even consider asking her the one thing I know I probably, definitely, shouldn't. "Will you just meet her?" I ask, hating how hopeful I sound. "Just, meet her properly. Sit down, have a meal with us and actually _talk_ to us. Talk to me, and talk to her, before you decide you want nothing to do with us, because we're together, and I love her, and, if you want even remotely anything to do with my life, then you're going to have to find some way to get comfortable with that."

The silence drags on and on, until she finally breaks it. "Okay," she says.

I blink in surprise. "Okay?"

She nods once. "We'll have dinner," she says. "Tomorrow night."

Now, it's my turn to stare at her, bewildered. "Okay," I echo, struck dumb. "I'll cook."

"Is seven o'clock all right?"

I nod.

And, when she returns the nod and spins to leave the room; I just know Rachel is going to kill me.


	38. thirty-eight

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _she was flower salt in my heart,  
_ _and she hurt beautifully._

 _._

"Are you out of your mind?"

Quinn just watches me pace the length of my bedroom from my bed, her hands tucked behind her head. She looks so calm and unaffected, and it just makes me _angrier_. How can she just lie there when - when - _urgh_.

"Please tell me you _did not_ agree for us - you _and_ me - to have dinner with your _mother_?"

She says nothing. Which is smart, I'll give her that.

"Quinn Fabray," I snap, coming to a stop. "Tell me you're messing with me. Tell me this is all some elaborate ruse to wind me up just so we can have a hot make-out session."

Her eyebrows perk up at the sound of that, and I almost throw one of my shoes at her. "I'm not messing with you," she eventually tells me. "I wouldn't mess with you about something like this, Rachel. This is serious. I sort of told my mother about our... relationship, and she wants to have dinner with us."

"Quinn?"

"She _assumed_ , and I didn't deny it," she elaborates. "I'm done denying who I am or who you are to me when it comes to her, and I'm willing to face whatever consequences come my way. She inferred, and I may have told her that I love you when she started sprouting off things about the Bible and my being a sinner. So, there's that."

"Quinn."

She sighs. "Look, I get that you're worried - I'm worried too, believe me - but, if she's willing to _try_ to understand; I can't not let her. I know things have been terrible for _months_ , but she's still my mom and I like to think we can..." she trails off, and I immediately move to lie beside her and wrap my arms around her. "I know it doesn't make sense, after everything we've already been through, but I still want her to know me."

"Hey," I whisper into her hair. "It makes perfect sense to _me_. I think I would give Shelby any and all opportunities to know me, if ever she felt so inclined."

"She's missing out on so much."

"She really is," I agree quietly.

Quinn's hands move to cup my cheeks, and she presses a soft kiss to my lips. "Why is it that you're the only person who truly understands me?" she whispers.

"Because I'm the only person you're _letting_ understand you."

She kisses me again, softly and tenderly. "I love you, you know that?"

"I love you, too," I return, and then I kiss her harder. As much as I want to undress her and make her squirm and shudder beneath me, my dads _are_ downstairs, and Quinn has always been uncomfortable with trying _anything_ when they're home. So, when she starts unbuttoning my shirt, I can't contain my surprise. "Are we - "

"Shut up, Berry," she whispers against my lips, and then slides her tongue into my mouth. I lose all coherent thought when she rolls fully onto me and her hands spread over my bare abdomen, her fingers dancing over my skin. She's slow and deliberate, her touches purposeful and careful. Her mouth doesn't stray from mine, but her hands do wander, down and down, after she's managed to undo the front clasp of my bra. I feel her hands on my bare hips, and then on my bare thighs, and _good_ _God_.

That's not my thigh.

Quinn presses the heel of her palm against my centre and I let out a guttural moan that immediately makes her pull away. She glances at the door worriedly, and sighs. "We can't do anything if you're not going to be quiet," she warns.

There is no way in hell I'll be able to do that. "My bedroom is soundproofed," I say, and she raises her eyebrows in question.

"Why didn't I know that?"

"Just kiss me," I rush, and she obliges, her hands coming back up to knead, massage, pinch, and stroke my breasts. I arch my back, pressing myself further into her hands, and her mouth is the only thing muffling my moans. Why is she so good at this? Those hands are just so talented, and don't even get me started on her lips. And her hips. She knows how to work my body as if she's read the manual. Is it possible to die from over-stimulation?

"Quinn," I practically beg, though I have no idea what I'm begging for.

"Be quiet," she murmurs, and then snakes her hand back down my body. She shifts my skirt upwards and presses her hand against my panties. It's - it's the first time I really consider asking - no, _telling_ \- her to put her hand inside, but - oh. She rocks her hips in a steady rhythm, and her hand is _right there_. My moans grow in frequency and volume, and her free hand abandons my right breast to cover my mouth. She probably doesn't trust my soundproofing. I _am_ being rather loud.

Her fingers slide into my mouth, and I immediately trap them with my lips and teeth. "God, there's so much heat," she says, almost in wonder. "It's so hot, and wet. My hand is drenched."

I whimper, my nails digging into her back as I hold on for dear life. "God, Quinn, I'm - I'm - "

"It's okay, baby, just _come_ ," she murmurs before sucking one of my nipples into her mouth, and I do. Violently. It's never felt like this before; just having her hand _there_ and hearing her wonder and feeling the pleasant weight of her body. When my shudders slow, and my body relaxes, boneless, Quinn presses open-mouthed kisses back up my body until she's kissing my mouth, and the hand that was muffling my moans slides into my hair. "You are so fucking sexy," she whispers against my lips, and I'm aroused all over again.

Before I can even bring her closer and kiss her until she's convulsing, she's rising up and moving away from me. "Where are you going?" I ask, breathless. "Quinn, oh my God, are you leaving?"

She doesn't say anything as she shifts onto her knees. "Relax, Berry, I'm just removing my cardigan," she says, shifting awkwardly to get the garment off. Her _hand_ is glistening and I do my best not to blush because it doesn't seem to bother her at all. Her dress is sleeveless, and I find myself staring at her strong arms. Her eyes are on my chest, and she licks her lips, her eyes darkening with obvious desire.

Okay.

 _Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend_?

She probably notices my surprise, because she rolls her eyes and lets out a soft giggle.

Oh, there she is.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she says, crawling back over me and settling her soft body on mine.

"You know you can tell me anything," I whisper, soaking up her warmth. Somehow, we're managing to ignore the fact I'm practically naked and ruffled and post-orgasmic beneath her, while she's fully dressed and flushed.

Quinn presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, and I automatically smile. "Before we started dating, I convinced myself I had a choice to make," she says, and she suddenly sounds _so_ serious. "In my head, it was between you and my family, and I had myself so fixated on the idea that I could have only one and not the other. But - but now I could have both." She lets out a shaky breath, and I run one of my hands up her back. "I've learned a lot in therapy," she says, and I know I have to pay attention. "It was silly to think there was ever a choice, Rachel. Even if it doesn't work out with my mother, I know I'll still end up with _both_ : you _and_ my family, because..." she trails off and her eyes meet mine. " _You_ are my family."

I reach up to kiss her, and she allows me to. Before I even get her remotely as undressed as I am, she ends our kiss and tells me it's probably a good idea for me to get dressed, and then we can make out some more.

"I'm still mad at you," I say.

She frowns. "About what?"

"Dinner, with your mother," I remind her.

She sighs. "And there I was thinking that giving you an orgasm would make you forget."

I flush instantly, but I won't let her win this one. "It wasn't _that_ earth-shattering," I say.

She arches an eyebrow. "Oh?"

I lick my lips. "Nope."

"Maybe I'm losing my touch," she says, sounding conversational.

"It's probably just a blip," I say.

"Probably," she agrees. "I'll have to try again."

I hum. "I think that's the smartest idea you've ever had."

"Well, I am Miss Four-Point-Oh GPA," she quips with an easy shrug.

I prop myself up on my elbows. "So, then, what are you waiting for?"

She glances at the door once, probably says a mental _fuck it_ , and then climbs back over me. "Just make sure you stay quiet," she instructs. "You're normally loud enough to penetrate any soundproofing."

I try not to react to the word 'penetrate.' It's definitely not a good enough reason to use it. "I can't make any promises," I end up saying.

"Good," she murmurs. "Because, with what I plan on doing to you, it's doubtful you'll be able to keep them."

* * *

"Dad? Daddy?"

My Dad lifts his head from the papers he's reading and smiles at me. "What is it, Sweetheart?"

Breathing deeply, I move to sit in Quinn's usual seat at the kitchen table, with my Daddy on my right, elbow deep in administrative work, and my Dad opposite me. "Can I talk to you about something?" I say, wringing my fingers together on the tabletop.

My Daddy sets down his highlighter, removes his reading glasses and gives me his full attention. "Of course," he prompts.

I roll my lips together, trying to determine where to begin. "Quinn and I are having dinner with her mother tonight," I say, practically rushing the words. Quinn and I talked about it this morning and, given the very real possibility this could go terribly, I need to clear up some things with my dads. Quinn is at Cheerios' practice right now - not participating, but learning the choreography and being her Head Cheerio best - so I'm using the opportunity to have this discussion with my dads without her here.

"Oh?" my Dad says, looking thoughtful.

"How are you feeling about that?" my Daddy asks.

"All sorts of things," I admit. "She's nervous, of course, and I'm apprehensive. We're not putting too much confidence in it going well, but Quinn's willing to try, and I want to support her regardless of my feelings towards the woman."

"And, how _do_ you feel about her?" my Dad asks.

"I definitely hate her," I say, easily. "I've never wanted to be a person who's capable of hate, but I am, because I do. I hate her mother, and I hate her sister, but I especially despise her father in the basest of ways I've yet to understand fully."

My dads just stare at me.

I take in a shaky breath. "He - he hurt her," I whisper. "He _hurt_ her. How - how can I not hate him?"

My dads exchange a look, and their silent conversation prompts my Daddy to speak. "Her father hurt her?" he asks, more for clarification, I suppose. Quinn thinks they both already have an idea about what may or may not have taken place in the Fabray household.

My jaw clenches. Quinn and I once made a silent decision not to discuss this with them, but I think it's important they know. With the probability of Quinn ending up ousted from her house after tonight, they need to know. "She's been broken, Daddy; she still is. He spent _years_ breaking her, and it's going to take even longer for her to _heal_. I need to tell you this because - because - " I fall silent. "I just need to be sure you know what you're getting yourselves into," I say. "Because, I mean, you said Quinn was always welcome here and that still stands, right?"

"Of course, Sweetheart," my Daddy says.

I take a deep breath. "If tonight doesn't go well, I suspect Quinn will be living with us," I say, and they must hear something in my voice because my Dad raises his eyebrows.

"Rachel, do you _not_ want it to go well?" he questions.

"I - I don't know," I admit. I haven't said any of _this_ to Quinn because I'm not sure how she'll take it. I do intend to talk to her about it but, with everything going on tonight, I don't want to heap onto her palpable nerves and stress. "I mean, of course I want her to have a relationship with her mother," I say. "Quinn wants that and, if she's willing to try, then so should I, right? I just, I don't want her to get hurt or blinded by her need for her family's approval. Selfishly, I want her to be free of them, because they've done nothing but hurt her, manipulate her and allow her to lose herself in a quest to be the perfect daughter and sister to what is _such_ an imperfect family." My voice sounds strangled even to my ears. "I want her safe and out of that house, so she can heal _properly_."

My Dad nods once. "I have to admit I've wanted her out of that house for quite some time now," he says.

"Why didn't you insist?" I question, purely out of curiosity. A part of me is sure I already know the answer, and my Daddy doesn't disappoint.

"She has to come to us, Rachel," he says, sounding defeated. "We could never ask her to leave, or even force her hand. Unfortunately, Quinn's very essence doesn't allow her not to look for her family's approval. It's not something she can switch off, and we're going to have to be patient with her. She has to make the decision to leave herself, otherwise she'll carry the trauma of that for the rest of her life, and I don't want to think about what that could do to your relationship."

I've given this a lot of thought too and, honestly, I'm willing to accept whatever blame Quinn places on me, as long as she's safe. Even if she decides she doesn't want me after all of this, I just want her to be out and away from the kind of environment that won't allow her to be herself and be _happy_. They're all sobering thoughts that I haven't discussed with anyone besides Santana. She seems to understand. As Quinn's fiercest protector, she _understands_. We would both rather be without her than have her hurting and unsafe.

I look at my Dad. "Are you taking her to see Flo?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Flo is going to her house, apparently."

I roll my eyes. "She's probably trying to get Flo to help her with all the cooking she's insisted on doing."

"She's cooking?" my Daddy asks, his eyes lighting up. "And she didn't _tell_ me. Quinn Fabray, I never."

I giggle despite myself, and I immensely appreciate what he's trying to do. The conversation has been rather heavy, but I still feel as if we haven't really discussed the crux of it all. There's just _so much_ , and I wouldn't even know where to begin. Quinn is in therapy; I've been in therapy, and I'm starting to think we're going to have to go to therapy _together_ at some point. Maybe in New York.

Or in New Haven.

 _That_ is something I'm actively not thinking about. I don't know how I'm supposed to get used to the idea of not seeing her every single day anymore. I mean, I spend more of my waking hours with Quinn than anyone else, and just the thought of spending days without her presence is giving me anxiety. I've never thought I would be one of those people who would get so caught up in another person's entire existence, but here I am.

Here I am, wanting time to slow down so I don't have to live eighty miles away from the one person I didn't think would end up doing _this_ to me. Quinn Fabray has ruined me. We've - we've ruined each other, because, whether we like it or not, this _is_ forever we're talking about.

* * *

'Nervous' is one way to describe what I'm feeling, but it's a lot more than that. 'Apprehension' is too mild, and 'terrified' sounds a little too dramatic. I mean, all I'm doing is meeting my girlfriend's mother, who happens to be a loveless, soul-crushing, homophobic, God-fearing bitch.

So, sure, everything is going to be fine.

Quinn answers the door before I've even worked up the courage to ring the doorbell. She looks deathly amused by what must be my bemused face. "I saw your car pull up," she says, reaching for my left hand and pulling me into the house. She closes the door behind me and immediately pushes me up against it, her mouth descending on mine in the most delicious way.

Before I can lose myself in the feel of her lips moving against mine, I come to my senses and gently push her away. "Quinn, oh my God, what if your mother sees?"

She chuckles lightly, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "She's not here yet," she says. "And you're early."

"I thought I could help."

"You could help by kissing me," she says, coy and playful and - _wait a minute_.

"Baby, are you drunk?"

Quinn chuckles, and her breath is sweet as it washes over my face. "No, not drunk," she says; "but I did sip some wine to settle my nerves. My girlfriend is about to meet my mother, I've been a wreck all morning, and Santana bitched about the suicides I had them run _all afternoon_."

I blink. "San was here?"

"Briefly," she says, tugging on my hands and leading the way through the dark corridors to the kitchen. "After Flo left, she stopped by. I needed some almond milk and she was on her way to see Britt, so she passed by the store to get me some. I thought she was being nice and all, but she just wanted to chew me out for killing her hamstrings. She's very dramatic."

I hum in agreement, smiling as the glorious smells of Quinn's cooking reach my nose. "Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Have I ever told you that your house freaks me out, even all these months later?"

She chuckles, and the tension in her shoulders appears to lessen. "Seems haunted, doesn't it?"

"Like an ancient tomb."

And, the smile is gone. "That's because a family died here."

I sigh. "Way to be a buzz kill, Fabray."

"It's in the blood."

I shake my head. "As much fun as your sunny disposition is; I do hope you're going to give this evening a chance," I quietly scold. "I won't have your sarcasm at the dinner table when we're _trying_ to bridge gaps here."

She glances over her shoulder at me. "Oh, so, now we're on board with this evening then?"

I can't help my blush. "I've accepted my fate," I declare. Then: "Don't say I never did anything for you."

Quinn stops walking just before we enter the kitchen and she turns her body to face me head-on. "I would never say that," she says seriously, even though I'm sure she recognises I was just teasing. "I know what you do for me, Rachel. Every day, you do so much. You - you keep me here."

And, well, now everything is _heavy_. "Quinn," I murmur, but she just drops a kiss to my forehead, and then disappears into the kitchen. I follow after a moment and walk into the most glorious sight I've ever seen - besides a Quinn Fabray shuddering against me, of course. The kitchen island is covered with platters and trays of food. Vegan food. "Wow," I say.

She smiles sheepishly. "Is it too much?"

"No," I immediately say. The nervousness is so much cuter on her. "Just surprising, is all. Did you spend all afternoon on this?"

She nods once, nibbling on her bottom lip. "It helped keep me... occupied."

I smile at her, open and understanding. "It looks wonderful, Quinn," I tell her. "I can't _wait_ to dig in."

"Oh?"

"To you, and the food," I add, and I revel in the way her cheeks bloom with a healthy blush. I move straight towards her and press a kiss to her cheek, feeling the warmth through my lips. It's lovely. _She's_ lovely. "Are you planning on changing into something else?" I ask.

"Why?" she asks, mischief in her eyes. "Do you want to watch?"

It's almost embarrassing the way my eyes light up and my body hums. "Are you offering to strip for me, Quinn Fabray?"

"I'm not offering," she says, shrugging. "Follow if you want." And then she's gone, heading up the stairs to her bedroom, with me chasing after her. She shrieks as she slides across the floor in her socks, and it's the most perfect sound I've ever heard. It sounds young and carefree, and she looks light and happy.

 _And_ she's already started removing clothes.

Sweet Baby Jesus.

I follow her into her bedroom, and she slams the door shut with her foot. She grabs my wrist, drags me across the carpet, and pushes me down onto the bed. "Sit still," she says huskily, and I slide my hands under my thighs to stop myself from reaching out. She shoots me a devilish smirk before crossing the room to switch on some music. Just the sound of the first note of _Teardrop_ by Massive Attack gets me aroused, and I'm certain Quinn can tell from the smug grin on her face when she turns back to me.

"Hi, baby," she rasps, and _where has this girl been all my life_?

And then it really begins. All I can do is watch and enjoy. She slowly unbuttons her blouse and I stare at her, eyes wide. Is this really happening? I must be dreaming. Quinn Fabray is _not_ slowly peeling away her clothing with hips swaying to the beat, right in front of me, in her bedroom? It's just - this can't be real. If this is what she's like when she's accepted herself and accepted the happiness, then there is absolutely no way I am ever letting go of her.

Once her buttons are undone, she slides the blouse off her shoulders, and I'm awarded with the sight of her full chest and strong upper arms. And her abs - God, her abs. There's so much smooth, pale skin on offer, and all I want to do is _touch_. And lick. She drops the blouse to the floor, the fabric slipping over her skin and landing in a heap. She leans into me, her pushing her breasts as close to my face they can get without actually touching me. I can barely focus on that because her hands are now on the button of her jeans. Okay. Her movements are slow and deliberate, the sound of her zip echoing off the walls, despite the music.

I've seen Quinn be many things: beautiful, graceful, playful, mischievous, dangerous, just _so many things_. But this is the first time I really accept that my girlfriend is ridiculously sexy, and she has a smile to match. Number eleven on the list. I didn't even know a person could have this many smiles... and to think Finn let go of _this._ What an idiot.

Quinn's thumbs slide into the waistband of her jeans and she shimmies out of them, sliding the denim down, over her hips and then her thighs. Her body is amazing, and so captivating. The way it moves; the way _she_ moves. It's such sweet, sweet torture, and the fact that I can't touch makes every part of me _burn_. When all she's left in is her matching underwear set and her socks, I can't stop myself from reaching out. She steps back and waves a finger at me.

"Na ah, Rachel Berry," she murmurs. "Hands off."

"Quinn," I whine.

She bops my nose with her forefinger, and then spins on her heel and walks away from me. I'm practically trembling by the time Quinn disappears into her closet.

"Is it possible to come just from _watching_ a strip tease?" I call out.

Quinn sticks her head out, all crazy hair and happy eyes. "It is, yes."

I frown. "It is?"

"Yip," she quips before she disappears again.

"Quinn?"

She says nothing and doesn't reemerge.

"Quinn? Quinn Fabray, are you seriously talking about Finn right now?"

Her laugh is loud and entirely impolite. "All I'm saying is that it's possible," she says, and the amusement in her voice is present and telling. I don't even think I've ever heard her actually _laugh_ this way about Finn. Cry, yes, but never laugh uncontrollably, and it's such a wonderful sound; I want nothing more than to bottle it up and keep it forever. It takes all of my willpower to stop myself from thinking about Finn and Quinn and possible strip teases. God. Why is that even a thing?

"Quinn," I complain.

She's giggling when she finally emerges, taking my breath away. She's wearing a sexy, knee-length, dark pink dress that fits her a little _too_ well. Really, she may as well be naked with the way my body reacts to the sight of her. "Did you?" she asks.

"Did I what?"

She rolls her eyes. "Come, Rachel? Did you come?"

I narrow my eyes. "Was that your intention?"

"No," she says seriously, pouting slightly. "I just wanted to put you in a good mood."

"I don't know if you've succeeded," I grumble.

Her laugh is loud and free, and I practically jump up and stalk towards her. I'm fully aware that I'm prowling but I get some morbid satisfaction from seeing her mouth snap shut and she takes an involuntary step back. "Rachel," she husks. "What are you doing?"

"It's mean, what you've done," I say. "It's almost seven o'clock and I'm all hot and bothered, and you're not even planning on doing anything about it." I reach out to touch her, but my hands pause in the air. What I want to do is make her as flustered as I am, but I _really_ don't want her mother to think we've been doing _things_. So, instead, I huff in annoyance, and then head downstairs, leaving Quinn to finish getting ready.

It doesn't take us all that long to realise I needn't have worried about her mother thinking I defiled her daughter. As the minutes tick by and we sit quietly in the lounge, it becomes increasingly apparent that Quinn's mother isn't going to show. Quinn doesn't say much of anything, but I can see what this is doing to her. Her movements slow and her entire body grows more and more still until she's completely rigid.

At exactly nine o'clock, she stands abruptly and goes into the kitchen. It's when I hear the first tray go flying that I jump up and run to the kitchen to find Quinn throwing things in desperation. Even in her anger and obvious devastation, she doesn't touch the food. Even like this, she _knows_ the helplessness of having no home and no food, and she wouldn't dream of wasting. God, even _that_ hurts.

I've - I've never seen her like this. A whisk flies across the room, which is quickly followed by a metal cup. It clangs against the fridge, and her breath hitches once, twice, before she bursts out crying, her body folding in on itself. My arms are wrapped around her a beat later, and we both sink to the floor. She sobs into my shoulder and I just hold onto her, trying to keep her from falling to pieces right in front of me.

Her heart is beating _so_ fast, and her entire body is shaking, and my heart is breaking. I didn't want this. I _never_ wanted this, but we both know what it means. It was Judy's last Hail Mary. We both know there's no chance of a relationship now. We're sure of it now, and this is the kind of breakup _nobody_ should ever have to go through. The already strained relationship between mother and daughter has been severed completely in this one act, and I can only imagine this is more painful than anything Finn or I could ever do to her.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into her hair. "Baby, I'm so sorry."

She just sobs that bit more, clutching tightly onto me. It feels like forever before her fists unclench the fabric of my dress and she breathes out. Just feeling her breath wash over me is both a relief and terrifying. It means she's accepted whatever this is, and I wish she didn't have to. Her hands release my dress fully and she sits up slightly, leaning her back against a cabinet door.

"There's so much food," she says, quiet and exasperated, as she absently gestures at the kitchen island.

I hum in agreement, my mind racing through all the ways we can salvage this night. We can't possibly eat it all ourselves, and it's already too late to deliver it to the homeless shelter, surely. But... there's something else we can do. "I have an idea," I say, and she looks at me, tears still in her perfect hazel eyes. "How do you feel about company?"

"Huh?"

I bring my lips to the shell of her ear and whisper my idea to her. I wait for her nod, and then rise to my feet and locate my phone. I send off quick texts and then make my way back to the kitchen to help Quinn to her feet. Taking her hand, I lead the way up the stairs to her bedroom and both of us change out of our dresses into more comfortable clothing. Quinn slips on an _Avatar_ t-shirt and a pair of grey McKinley sweatpants. I match her, except for the bottoms because I choose a pair of her boy shorts instead. I think my subconscious wants her to be able to ogle my legs... just to make her feel better, and I smile rather smugly when her gaze lingers.

When we get back downstairs, I go to the kitchen while Quinn puts on some music in the living room. I'm righting things and heating up some food when the music starts to _blare_ , and I jump, dropping the serving spoon in my hand. When Quinn comes into the kitchen, she looks much better. She bypasses the mess she's made and reaches for my hand, tugging me towards her and wrapping her arms around my waist. Without even giving me the opportunity to question her, she starts to sway, and now we're dancing. My breath catches in my throat because I can't recall ever just dancing with only her. I slide my arms around her neck and press my body to hers, soaking up her warmth and enjoying this slow dance to _I'll Be_ by Edwin McCain.

As soon as the song ends, Quinn presses a kiss to the top of my head and releases me enough to settle her hands on my shoulders and look me in the eye. "I love you," she whispers. "I love you so much, and I just want to say thank you for being here. I know none of this is easy for you, but thank you for loving me regardless."

I cup her cheeks with both my hands and breathe out. I don't actually know what to say to her right now, so I rather just kiss her. It takes us a moment to settle into the kiss, and she lets out a throaty moan when our tongues tangle. It sparks something and the air practically crackles when Quinn steps forward and I step back. When my back hits the kitchen counter, Quinn places her hands on either side of me and presses her body against mine in the most delicious way. Her hips are perfectly aligned over mine, and I'm momentarily transported back to a bathroom stall in a New York restaurant.

Quite suddenly, all I want to do is take off her clothes and kiss every inch of her skin. My hands move to the small of her back, under her t-shirt and, before I can even begin to drag the fabric upwards, the front door slams and we break apart instantly. Quinn spins around, standing right in front of me with a protective stance that I find ridiculously sexy.

"God, why is the music so fucking loud?" we hear Santana call out, and Quinn and I visibly relax.

Quinn even lets out a small laugh and shakes her head. She looks over her shoulder at me, mischief in her eyes. "Rach, you _know_ you're going to regret this, right?"

"I know," I say, and steal a quick kiss before we both go out to the living room to meet Santana and Brittany. They decidedly _don't_ comment on our failed dinner or our puffy eyes. Also, despite Santana's initial complaints about the volume of the music, when Justin Timberlake comes on, nobody is allowed to fiddle with Quinn's iPod but her. Kurt and Blaine arrive not too long after, and the six of us settle into an impromptu dance party. We're acting goofy and stupid, and it's the first time in such a long time that I truly feel like a teenager. We've just had to deal with so much, and tonight is easy and fun and Quinn is laughing and the world doesn't seem so scary because of it.

We dance like complete idiots - Blaine and Brittany even do scissor jumps off the couch - and we sing at the tops of our lungs. Quinn is lively, distracted and present in a way that surprises even me. She dances with me and near me with abandon and, from the initial looks we receive from Kurt and Blaine, I have to remember this is the first time they've actually _seen_ us act like a couple. Still, the novelty fades quickly, and the six of us go _crazy_.

Eventually, Santana claims she's starving, and we all pile into the kitchen. I grab plates from the cabinet, and Quinn fetches glasses. Santana, of course, knows exactly where the alcohol is, and she pours wine for all six of us. After my lapse in memory, I made a silent vow not to drink wine ever again, but even I had to know that was never going to last very long.

"Sweet Jesus, where's the meat?" Santana asks, eyeing the food critically.

"It's in there," Quinn says, grinning in mischief; "I swear."

I can't help my giggle, and Quinn moves towards me, our two plates in her hands. She doesn't even bother handing mine to me as she dishes food out for the both of us. Sometimes, I'm sure she knows what I like to eat better than I do, which is a definite possibility, really. I'm easily distracted. I mean, have you seen what my girlfriend looks like? Even Kurt gets a little lost staring at the sheer perfection of her.

When Quinn deems my plate ready, she hands it to me and presses a kiss to my cheek, before leaving the kitchen with her wine and Brittany in tow. I stare after her until I realise Kurt is looking at me.

"What?" I ask, blushing.

"I still stand by the notion that I want a Quinn too," he says, smiling widely. "You two are _so_ cute."

I blush because I can't help it. "We are a little, aren't we?"

He laughs lightly, and finishes up dishing up some of the lovely food Quinn has prepared. I wait with him, and then we head out to the living room together. The music has been switched off and there's a show playing on the television that nobody seems to be watching. They're all sitting on the floor around the short coffee table, having two conversations at once. It's - it's just _perfect_ , and I can't help thinking this is so much better than the awkward torture Quinn and I would have had to endure if her mother decided to join us for dinner.

Quinn glances up at me when I haven't moved from my position just watching them all interact. She arches an eyebrow, and pats the space beside her where she's set a pillow down for me. God, she's just so lovely. I practically skip to her side and settle down with my plate on the tabletop.

"A toast," Santana says; "now that we're all here." She shoots me a dirty look, and I just roll my eyes. We all lift our glasses. "To the six gayest kids Glee has ever seen."

Quinn laughs first, and we all join in a beat later. "To the six gayest kids Glee has ever seen," she repeats, and we all clink glasses and sip at the wine. Well, Quinn, Blaine and _I_ sip, but Kurt, Santana and Brittany _gulp_. It's good wine.

The conversation flows easily then, and gets even easier the more alcohol we consume. Santana keeps our glasses full. She seems to have accepted the responsibility of getting us suitably drunk, and I recognise the moment Quinn allows it. She shifts to lean her back against the couch, and she pulls me with her. I settle into her side and she wraps an arm around my waist as I rest my head on her shoulder. It's so... comfortable. One day, our lives will be like this. One day, we won't have to hide our love or our relationship.

One day, we'll be free.

"I have an announcement," Santana says, getting our attention and sitting up straight. We all fall silent and look at her. "So, well, I - " she pauses, faltering in such an _un_ Santana-like way. "I got accepted at NYU."

Quinn cheers the loudest, and I clap enthusiastically. "This is awesome," Quinn says, rising up and crawling to give her best friend a hug that Santana actually accepts. "This is amazing."

"Yeah yeah," Santana says, brushing her off. She waits until Quinn is back at my side before she continues speaking. "So, now we're just waiting for Britt to get her letter, and then when Berry and Hummel ace their auditions; we'll _all_ be in New York."

I don't miss the look Santana sends Quinn's way, or the sudden stiffening of my girlfriend. Still, Quinn raises her glass. "To Santana," she says, and we toast and drink again. We're actually really good at toasting things and, by the end of the evening, we're all pretty drunk, save for Blaine, who had only one glass of wine hours ago.

We get back to singing to random music, and Brittany even starts a conga line. It's difficult not to stumble over one another, but it just makes us all laugh that bit harder. I don't think I've enjoyed an evening the way I've enjoyed this one in _forever_. When a slow song _finally_ comes on, we drop down onto the various pieces of furniture as if it's a collective decision.

"I'm so happy," Quinn says to nobody in particular, and the sentiment is quickly echoed.

At the first sign that the evening is over, Quinn invites them all to stay the night, which Brittany and Santana are quick to jump at, but Blaine says he's good to drive, so he'll take Kurt home. Quinn starts to get a little mellow when Blaine starts to gather his things, and I squeeze her hand to get her attention.

"What's on your mind?" I ask quietly.

Her eyes scan the room, taking in the pretty sights before her: Blaine trying to get Kurt's arms into his jacket; Santana carefully threading her fingers through Brittany's hair; and me. "This is the family I've built for myself," she says; "and I wouldn't trade it for anything."

I lean towards her to press a kiss to her temple.

She turns her head to smile at me. "I love you," she whispers and, before I can even respond, she's talking to the room: "I love you, guys." It comes out in a bit of a slur, but they all stop what they're doing to look at her.

And, as each one of them says it back, slowly and surely, there's no way any of us can know that only one of the three couples in this room right now is going to make it through graduation.


	39. thirty-nine

**Chapter** **Thirty-Nine**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _i have lost millions and millions of words to fear.  
_ _tell me that is not violence._

 _._

Despite being more drunk than sober, Rachel and I still try to clean up as best we can. We clear the living room, fluff the pillows and reset the furniture... all while Santana and Brittany giggle in the corner of the room. In the kitchen, I do the dishes while Rachel packs away the leftover food into containers and places them in the fridge. We work around each other with such ease, and I find myself marvelling at how domestic it all is. We're going to have this life one day. I just know it. Well, I know it _now_ more than ever, because she's the only reason I can even stomach what tonight means.

Rachel moves to dry the dishes when she's done, and we fall into a quiet rhythm that settles the aching in my chest that I've temporarily managed to forget about. Her movements are slow and purposeful, and I'm relieved she hasn't tried to touch me. I don't even realise I don't want to be comforted until this very moment. I just want to do these dishes. It's the only thing I want to do.

At some point, Brittany and Santana stumble into the kitchen to bid us goodnight, giggling to themselves, before they head upstairs. I absently call out to them not to have sex in my house, but it's a futile warning. I'm pretty sure Santana already has her hand down Brittany's pants as they leave the room together. Rachel and I just watch after them in amusement, and she braves bumping my hip with her own. I shoot her a smile and, when she returns it, I can't help feeling that all is right in the world.

"I love you," she says, almost reverently.

"I love you too," I automatically return, leaning down to peck her lips. Despite how glorious kissing her actually is, I'm immensely grateful she doesn't try for more. I mean, we essentially just had one, huge, gay party... in the _Fabray_ house. Honestly, if my father ever found out, he'd probably spontaneously combust or something equally ridiculous. I don't regret any of it, though. I mean, I found love in people who aren't my family... who cares if they happen to be gay?

I certainly don't.

When all evidence of the impromptu get-together has been put away and cleaned, Rachel and I go upstairs to my bedroom. We can hear sounds coming from one of the guest bedrooms - obvious sounds, if you ask me - and she lets out a little giggle. I find I don't care that Santana and Brittany are currently having lesbian sex in my house. Hell, they should have it in _every_ room, just so I can tell my mother and watch her eyes bug out of her head.

Our nightly routine is a little different at my house, which is mainly because Rachel didn't exactly plan for spending the night. We generally _don't_ spend nights together here, but I suppose tonight is the start of all sorts of ugly and beautiful things. I climb into bed first, lying on my back and watching her float about my bedroom. It's never felt as homey as it does right now. She belongs with me, in every way.

"I don't even know why you bother putting on clothes when I'm just going to take them off?" I say, eyeing her suggestively.

She stops her movements and looks at me, a slight blush on her cheeks. "Is that so?"

I nod, feeling my mouth go dry at the mere sight of her.

"Well, why do you think _you'd_ be the one to undress me?"

I swallow audibly at the sound of that. "Who else would undress you?" I ask, and my voice sounds strangled in my throat.

She licks her lips. "I think it's only fair that, given your theatrics earlier, you deserve a strip tease of your own."

And, boy do I get one.

There's no actual music playing, which prompts Rachel to sing quietly, breathily, and _good God_. My girlfriend is sexy and beautiful and gorgeous, and those legs and those hips and those hands. She doesn't have all that much clothing to remove, but I didn't even know shorts and a t-shirt _could_ be so sensual. I realise quickly it's actually nothing to do with the clothing and everything to do with Rachel Berry.

"Come here," I say when she's stripped down to only her panties. My entire body is practically vibrating, and I'm pretty sure my pupils are blown. She's not faring any better, which makes _my_ situation even worse. I'm distinctly uncomfortable, and I believe it now more than ever that a person definitely _can_ come from just watching a strip tease.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, slowly and purposefully climbing onto me and straddling my hips. She sits up straight as she settles, her hands sliding under my t-shirt and drawing patterns on my skin with her fingertips.

I take a deep breath, trying to focus on anything other than the feeling of her hands on my body or the radiating, slick heat I can practically feel through both our clothing. "Severely turned on," I say, unabashedly ogling her chest.

She sighs happily. "And, not physically?"

"Like I _really_ don't want to deal with what this all means tonight. Or, at all."

This time, her sigh is more painful, as if my answer actually hurts her. "I'm sorry, Quinn."

"Please don't be," I tell her. "None of this is on you."

"I feel like it is," she admits. "Maybe, without me, you could - "

"Stop," I interrupt. "Please, Rachel, I don't even want to think about what life would be like without you, okay? I never want to be faced with that thought, okay?"

She bends her body, her hands on either side of my head as her loose hair curtains around us. "Do you ever think about it?"

"About what?"

"About me, and us, and how none of this would be happening if you - " she pauses, taking a breath. "I guess, if you and Finn hadn't broken up, or if you hadn't showed up on my sidewalk. I mean, do you think you would still identify as straight if none of that happened; if _I_ didn't happen?"

I press my lips together in thought, my eyes looking to the side. "I think you already know my stance on how things that are meant to happen generally find a way of happening," I finally say. "Even if things didn't play out the way they have; I still think I would have discovered my true sexuality eventually, and I would have ended up right here, in this very position, one way or another."

She grins widely, her eyes flashing with mischief. "Where? Pinned beneath me?"

I arch an eyebrow. "You say that as if I can't get myself out of this position," I taunt.

"I dare you to try."

Now, even if I weren't a competitive person, just the tone of her voice alone would make me one. But, alas, I already am, and, in one quick swoop that burns my latently healing body to the nines, I have us flipped, my body covering the length of hers in every delicious way we _both_ love. It's almost comical how we both sigh in content. It takes her a moment for her eyes to focus on my face again, and she smiles a little goofily.

"Hi," she breathes.

I drop my head and kiss her, slow and purposefully. At first, at least, because she's practically naked beneath me and I _do not_ have idle hands. They start to move immediately, purposefully, because all I want to do is touch every inch of her perfect skin: tan and smooth and hot under my fingertips. She slides her own under my t-shirt, and we remove it together. My bra comes off next, and her hands roam, over my abdomen and my breasts, and over my shoulders and back into my hair. She tugs hard and I drag my lips downwards, ghosting over her perfect throat. She tastes salty sweet, and she smells like heaven: a mixture of her strawberry shampoo and her wonderful perfume.

When she says my name, I bite into her skin, and she tugs harder on my hair. It hurts a little, but I like it. That's an entire session of therapy right there, but I just bite down again, and it starts something. She scrambles for the waistband of my sweatpants and tugs them downward. I kick and squirm until my legs are bare, and the skin to skin contact is delightful and intense.

"You're going to leave a mark," she hisses when I nibble at the skin over her collarbone.

"That's the plan," I growl, licking my way back up to her mouth and kissing away her response. I move further up her body, and she moans at the contact, her hands sliding over the skin of my back. She's touching my scars and, with any other person, I would probably recoil, but this is Rachel. She's gentle, exploring in wonder, and she loves me.

She loves me, and it means everything in the world.

Her hands move to cup my ass, pressing us closer together, and everything is tangled and pulsing. I've never felt anything like this, and I've had enough physical intimacy to know the truth of it. Only Rachel Berry can do this to me and, before long, we're unabashedly grinding against each other in an attempt to temporarily forget the disaster that was tonight's planned dinner. I lose myself in the taste and the feel and the sound of her, my head swimming with raw and potent desire.

Which is the reason I end up separating our mouths and asking the question I do.

"Can I touch you?" I whisper in a rush, breathless and needy.

If I weren't so blinded by lust, I would find the way her eyes widen comical. "I don't - we shouldn't - " she struggles.

I pull back to watch her carefully.

"I don't want to have sex like this, Quinn," she says. "I don't want it to be because you're hurting."

"Then we're _never_ having sex," I say, somewhat darkly.

She shakes her head. "Don't say that," she admonishes, reaching to take hold of my wrists, her grip surprisingly gentle. "There will be a day when our lives will be simple and easy," she tries to reassure me. "But, right now, we're both a little drunk, and I know you know what I mean. Not tonight. Not like this."

I do know, which is why my forehead drops to her shoulder and I breathe out, tired and confused. "I just want to touch," I whisper, more to myself. "I want to _feel_."

Rachel hums softly, her fingers in my hair. Eventually, she lets out a breath in a _whoosh_. "Do _you_... have to touch _me_?" she asks, and I lift my head to look at her, confused. "I could..." she trails off.

"Touch yourself?" I finish, blinking repeatedly.

She flushes instantly. "I mean, it's not as if I _don't_ ," she says, and, okay, she can't just casually say that and expect me not to react. "Instead of touching each other, we could touch ourselves."

I must react somehow, because she starts to shake her head.

"Or, I mean, we could _not_ ," she starts to say, but I silence her with my lips, my tongue immediately seeking hers. It's a rough, almost painful kiss, and it doesn't take us long to get worked up again. My hips start rocking against her first, but it's her hand that starts southward first. I feel the movement, and my heart rate rises, if that's even possible. "Quinn?" she whispers, breathless.

"I want to," I say, moving my hand down as well. "Of course, I want to."

Rachel forces me off her, and I lie by her side. "I want to see," she says.

Wow.

Okay.

We're doing this.

We're definitely doing this.

She rolls onto her side to kiss me slowly, trapping my bottom lip between her teeth as she pulls away. Carefully, she reaches for my wrist and guides both our hands downward. I swallow audibly, my breath hitching dangerously. Eventually she releases my wrist, looks at my face for a moment, and then slips her hand into her own underwear.

We moan at the same time - me at the sight, and she at the feeling. I let out a shaky breath, rolling a bit more onto my back but not enough for me to strain to see her hand... moving. She's - she's touching herself... right in front of me. Just the thought of it makes me impossibly wetter, and the image of it has my hand sliding beneath the waistband of my own panties, my fingers sinking into my own soft folds. I resist the urge to close my eyes at the sensation.

"Oh, my God," Rachel hisses, her eyes widening as they watch my hand. We fall into a rhythm then, our moans practically alternating, and I try to focus on everything at once. I watch Rachel's hand and imagine hers is mine, circling and pinching, and _good God_. I jerk my hips towards her, and she crashes her lips against mine. It's all such a mess, but it feels _so good_.

And then, in a frenzy, Rachel is rolling right onto me, aligning our bodies so that the backs of our hands are pressed against each other. It's all happening so fast, and her eyes are locked on mine as her hips thrust into her own hand, the movement passing through to my hand and my own bundle of nerves. I'm approaching the cliff quickly, and the press of her breasts against mine get me there faster. Before I know it, I'm seeing stars, feeling the wave of intense pleasure wash right over me. I squeeze my eyes tight and let out a long, soft moan as Rachel's hips continue to buck against me until she comes with a loud gasp of my name.

She collapses, boneless, on top of me. We're still breathing heavily, and it takes a few minutes for my heart to slow to an acceptable rate. She eventually rolls off me, and we lie side by side, chests rising and falling in surprising synchrony. After another few minutes, Rachel reaches for my hand - the one still practically drenched in my juices - and entangles our fingers. Admittedly, I find it a little gross, but she doesn't seem to mind the... stickiness.

"Okay," she breathes. "We are _definitely_ having sex before we graduate," she declares.

I chuckle softly.

She rolls towards me, draping half her body over mine and resting her chin on my right breast. "We should have sex tomorrow, I think," she says. "I mean, if it feels half as good as that feels, then we _really_ need to start, Quinn."

I lift my head slightly. "Oh, my dear Rachel, I promise it will feel _so much better_ than that."

Her breath hitches and, yes, I'm sure we would be having sex tomorrow if she had her way. It's doubtful it will happen, but the thought is still wonderfully pleasant.

When her hands start to remove my panties, I grow still. "What - what are you doing?" I ask, panicking slightly.

"I want to sleep with you," she says; "and I want you to be naked."

I frown in confusion.

" _Sleep_ , Quinn," she clarifies. "Just sleep."

I feel my body relax, and she must too because she slides my underwear down my legs before she removes her own. Just _knowing_ she's completely naked makes my breath hitch, so I force myself not to look down, because I think I would probably stop breathing or something equally drastic.

Rachel reaches down to gather the duvet at our legs and lifts it to cover us both up to our shoulders. She shifts closer to me, and I automatically wrap my arms around her body, just _feeling_ all her glorious skin. She tangles our legs together and sighs.

"Is this okay?" she whispers into the night, her own hands splayed across my back.

"It's perfect," I say, my voice surprisingly shaky.

"Are you okay?"

I swallow audibly, shutting my eyes and focusing on my breathing.

"Is it too much?" she questions, starting to pull away, but I hold her tight, keeping her in place.

"I'm okay," I say, pressing my lips to her hairline. "I just - I love you _so_ much."

She breathes out, relieved. "I love you too, Quinn. I really do."

* * *

It's unlikely I'll ever be able to get used to the sight of Rachel Berry asleep in my bed. I don't want to leave her but I also don't want to wake her. She's just so perfect and peaceful and I could probably watch her sleep for the rest of my days. Still, I have somewhere to be, so I settle myself on the edge of my bed, cautiously reach out to run a hand over her silky hair and lean forward to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"Rachel," I whisper, trying to bring her to the land of the awake as carefully as possible. "Little star," I murmur. "Wake up, will you?"

Her eyes flutter in response, and she rolls further onto her back, squirming and stretching. The duvet shifts and I get a generous view of the delicious flesh of her breasts. "Quinn," she breathes. "Wha - "

I run my thumb over her bottom lip, smiling gently. "I'm going to church," I tell her. "Santana's going to drop me off on her way to Britt's," I explain; "and then she'll fetch me later. You should stay right here in my bed, get some sleep, and _definitely_ remain naked until I get back."

"And then what?" she asks, sounding more focused, despite the bleariness in her eyes.

I chuckle. "I don't want to fuel your fantasies, because _I'm_ the one who has to go and sit in church right now."

She smiles toothily. "Can I get a kiss?"

I worry about morning breath for only a beat before I press my lips to hers. It's quick because, yes, I _do_ have to have a conversation with God right now and, as comfortable I am with the idea that _loving_ Rachel can't be a sin, the physical side of our relationship does make me a little anxious when it comes to my religion. I acknowledge that I had these same feelings when I first considered having sex with Finn. Sex before marriage, while not sinful in the way being gay is considered, it was still a decision that was frowned upon because it resulted in a beautiful baby girl.

Ultimately, I made the decision because I loved him.

Did I regret it immediately? No. Later on? Definitely. Looking back, I think I _would_ have given my virginity to him eventually, but I wish it hadn't been when we were both so young. I consider Beth a lot when I think about my physical relationship with Finn. As far as I knew, sex wasn't much to write home about. I mean, I suppose I enjoyed it, but being with him never felt like the world would end all around us and I wouldn't notice. Rachel and I haven't even been intimate that way, and it already feels like so much more. I think it merely reaffirms my sexuality.

Or, just my feelings for Rachel.

Santana and Brittany are waiting for me in Santana's car when I finally head downstairs. I pass by the garage and, from my mother's missing car, she probably didn't come home at all. Perhaps my gayness kept her away. Well. After grabbing my purse, I head out, trying to shake the uneasy feeling of leaving Rachel alone in a house that could probably suck the very soul out of a person. I manage to ignore it as Santana drives. She's careful and deliberate now; coming to a complete stand-still at stop signs and doing all her checks. I don't know if it's solely for my benefit or if she now does it all the time. Regardless, I appreciate the effort.

When we get to the church's parking lot, we're noticed. I don't really pay much of any attention to it as I thank Santana, remind her of the pickup time, and then climb out. She's not staying. She hasn't stayed since that rather eventful first experience, and I wouldn't ask her to. So, I just wave them off and make my way into the church, blissfully ignoring all the haughty eyes of the supposed respectful, God-fearing people of this sick and twisted town of Lima, Ohio. I don't see my mother, and it isn't as if I'm looking. I don't even know _what_ I would say if I did see her. I do spy the top of Sam's head, but I'm only here for God. I slide into a pew near the back, straighten my back and fold my hands in my lap in preparation for the service. I need to consolidate with God regarding what happened last night, with my mother and with Rachel.

With my eyes trained forward, I'm able to settle into the peace I somehow find in this building. I've never understood it, but I've come to accept that it's never been about the _other_ people. It's always been about God... and Revered Jimmy, of course. I'm really going to miss the man when I leave this place. His sermons have always felt both heavy and light with truths and self-reflection, and today's lesson is no different. He speaks of God's love and His forgiveness, and he speaks of the love and forgiveness of yourself. And, when we rise to sing _No Longer Slaves_ , it almost feels as if the entire service was tailored for me.

.

 _You unravel me with a melody_  
 _You surround me with a song_  
 _Of deliverance from my enemies_  
 _'Til all my fears are gone_

 _I'm no longer a slave to fear_  
 _I am a child of God_  
 _I'm no longer a slave to fear_  
 _I am a child of God_

 _From my mother's womb_  
 _You have chosen me_  
 _Love has called my name_  
 _I've been born again to my family_  
 _Your blood flows through my veins_

 _I'm no longer a slave to fear_  
 _I am a child of God_  
 _I'm no longer a slave to fear_  
 _I am a child of God_  
 _I'm no longer a slave to fear_  
 _I am a child of God_  
 _I'm no longer a slave to fear_  
 _I am a child of God_

 _I am surrounded_  
 _By the arms of the Father_  
 _I am surrounded_  
 _By songs of deliverance_

 _We've been liberated_  
 _From our bondage_  
 _We're the sons and the daughters_  
 _Let us sing our freedom_

 _You split the sea_  
 _So I could walk right through it_  
 _My fears are drowned in perfect love_  
 _You rescued me_  
 _And I will stand and sing_  
 _I am a child of God._

 _You split the sea_  
 _So I could walk right through it_  
 _You drowned my fears in perfect love_  
 _You rescued me_  
 _And I will stand and sing_  
 _I am a child of God._

 _Yes, I am_  
 _I am a child of God_  
 _I am a child of God_  
 _Yes, I am_  
 _I am a child of God_  
 _Full of faith_  
 _Yes, I am a child of God_  
 _I am a child of God_

 _I'm no longer a slave to fear_  
 _I am a child of God_  
 _I'm no longer a slave to fear_  
 _I am a child of God_  
 _I'm no longer a slave to fear_  
 _I am a child of God_

.

It really is as if the words are meant for me. Today of all days. Every day. I've learned to pay attention to the signs when they're presented to me. It's taken me a while, sure, but I'm listening now. I'm paying attention, and I hear what I'm being told loud and clear. I'm okay. Rachel is okay. Everything is going to be okay because we have each other and the rest of the world doesn't matter. These churchgoers don't matter, and my parents sure as hell don't either.

I leave after a brief talk with Reverend Jimmy, promising him a visit and a freshly baked cake before the end of the month. Santana is waiting for me in her car and, besides the few glances our way, nobody makes a scene. I'm immensely grateful, and I offer her a smile as I climb into the passenger's seat and put on my seatbelt. I'm getting better at the car rides and, after the trip to New York and back, I think I can handle them quite well. I think I'd be more anxious with a stranger driving, and I'm quite certain I would have a panic attack if I had to sit behind the wheel. Baby steps, I guess.

"Any cat fights?" Santana asks as she shifts into gear.

"No," I say; "though, I still haven't given up on my idea of running a housewives fight club."

She laughs out loud. "I would pay good money to see that."

"I'm pretty sure you're not the only one."

Santana declines my offer to come inside when she pulls into the driveway. "Britt's waiting for me."

I bite my bottom lip, suddenly feeling guilty. "I'm sorry I pulled you away."

"Hey," she says; "none of that, okay? If you need a ride, you call me, no questions asked. Okay?"

"Okay," I say after a brief pause. "Okay."

"Good, now get the fuck out of my car."

I chuckle lightly, thanking her again for the lift, and then get out. I can feel her eyes on me as I make my way towards the front door. I turn and wave when I'm on the front porch, and she uses it as license to reverse out of the driveway and pull away. I watch her car disappear before I turn back to the house. I fumble with my keys when I slide them into the lock of the front door. I feel oddly _peaceful_ , and I can't wait to see Rachel. Maybe she's still naked in my bed, which is a thought that doesn't really help with my struggle with the door. Maybe she hasn't had breakfast yet, and we can make some together. Or, maybe she's made _me_ breakfast… which I could perhaps eat off her body. Now, there's an idea.

I finally get the door open and open it to what I expect to be a quiet house. It's not. It's decidedly not, because I hear voices coming from the living room. _Harsh_ voices. I quietly close the door behind me and make my way further into the house, recognising my mother's voice immediately when she speaks.

"Do you have any idea what this is going to do for her future?" she questions, and I just know that she must have found Rachel in the house, alone, the morning _after_ we were all supposed to have dinner together. "Her _family_? Don't you even care about that?"

"Of course, I care about that," Rachel defends, but even I can hear how shaky her voice sounds. "I care about all of that for her, and all of that for me too. But, all I want is for Quinn to be happy."

My mother barks out a laugh, and my skin crawls as I round the archway and spy them standing near the entrance to the kitchen. Rachel looks dishevelled, clearly having just rolled out of bed and thrown on _my_ clothes, and my mother looks thoroughly put out. "Happy?" she practically growls. "You say you want her to be happy, huh? Well, you should have thought about that before you and your filth entered her life!" She steps menacingly towards Rachel, and I snap.

"Hey!" I snarl.

Rachel jumps at the sound of my voice, but my mother looks perfectly put together as she straightens and smooths down her blouse. She's a psychopath, I swear she is. I stalk into the room and move to stand next to Rachel, sliding a protective and reassuring arm around her waist. I desperately try to ignore the fact that she's trembling.

"What the hell is going on here?" I ask, eyeing my mother critically.

"Just getting to know each other is all," my mother replies, waving her hand through the air dismissively.

My jaw clenches. "Well, we had an entire dinner planned for that last night," I say; "which you didn't bother to show up to."

Her eyes flash dangerously, and Rachel clings to me that bit harder. "I had a clash," she says, and we all know it's a lie.

"A phone call would have been nice," I mutter. "We waited."

"I'm sure you did," she says. "Even had a sleepover, I see."

"It's better than spending the night alone in this house," I say curtly. "Where were you anyway?"

"With your father."

Now, even though I _know_ my parents have been doing whatever they've been doing; I've been able to pretend it isn't happening. But now, to have her confirm it, and so easily; my body immediately tenses, and I feel Rachel cast her worried eyes on me. "My father," I repeat, feeling oddly as if the bottom has dropped out of my stomach. I take a breath. "And how is dear old Dad?" I ask.

Her nostrils flare, and her gaze meets mine. There's a look of significance that crosses between us, and I know exactly what it means. It's impossible I wouldn't, because that's the look that tells me exactly who my mother has chosen in this life. It's not me. It's never been me and it never will be. "I want her out of my house," she says, eyes on me. "Now."

I narrow my eyes.

"Don't make me say it again," she says, stepping towards me. "And you _stay_. I want to talk to you without an audience."

"I think you mean without a witness," I mutter.

"Quinn Fabray," she says, her voice harsh. "Do _not_ tempt me. I've put up with this farce long enough. Now, I want her out of my house and, so help me God, she will not step foot in here again. Do I make myself clear?"

There are things I want to say. There are _so many_ things I want to say, but the words don't come. I want to fight with her, hash this out once and for all, but I don't want Rachel to see any of it. So, yes, Rachel should go home, and then my mother and I can have a perfectly rational conversation about this whole thing. That's exactly what we'll do.

Without saying a word, I tighten my grip on Rachel's waist and lead us out of the room. We climb the stairs in silence, and it's only when we're in my bedroom behind my closed door that Rachel speaks.

"Okay," she says, running trembling hands through her hair. "Okay," she repeats. "We'll go, okay? We'll go to my house. Let's just go to my house, okay?"

I stand near the edge of my bed, my heart beating faster than the blood can move through my arteries.

"Quinn?"

I lift my head. "I think - I think it's best if you go home alone," I say, and her face falls.

"No," she says. "I'm not just going to leave you here."

"I think my mother and I need to talk," I say. "Properly. Once and for all. We'll talk, and she'll decide if she wants me in her life, and then I'll know for sure. I need her to decide, Rachel."

She stares at me for the longest time. "Are - are you sure?"

I don't respond to her question because, no, I'm not sure. "If it goes badly, will I still be able to stay with you?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper. "Just until graduation."

"Baby, you can stay with us as long as you want," she says, moving towards me and cupping my cheek. "You know that."

I manage a small smile. "I know," I say; "I'm just checking."

"You're always welcome," she assures me. "I just hope it doesn't come to that," she adds, and there's a part of me that doesn't really believe her. I don't think she _wants_ me to hurt; she just wants me to be free, and it's becoming increasingly apparent that it's going to be too difficult to do that with the weight of my family and their expectations and prejudices sitting on my shoulders.

"It probably will," I say, shrugging slightly. "But it's a conversation we need to have. I think - I think I'll need the closure for later in life... for when we're both out and happy and free."

"And married with our four, maybe five, children," she finishes, rocking forward to kiss me softly. It's quick, a seal of sorts, before she steps back and busies herself getting changed. I just watch in silence as she makes herself presentable, dashing into my bathroom for a few minutes, and then coming out looking like she didn't just wake up and have a confrontation with her girlfriend's homophobic mother. She wraps me in the tightest hug imaginable and, if I'm being honest, my lung complains quite considerably because I'm out of breath when she releases me.

"I want to give you some notebooks," I say, ducking into my closet to retrieve the next six notebooks. There aren't too many more after them, and I'm particularly wary of _those_ , because they have a lot about Rachel in them; detailing my journey of discovering my love for her. "I know you haven't brought them up since... just, _since_ , and there's still a lot I want you to know," I tell her as I hand them over.

She's hesitant as she takes them from me, a pensive look on her face.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I _really_ don't want to leave you here, Quinn."

"It's okay," I say, trying to sound reassuring. "It's okay, Rachel. I'll be fine, I promise."

She still doesn't look sure.

"I love you, okay?" I say. "We're just going to talk. She'll determine if she can find it in her psychopathic heart to accept me for who I am or not, and then we'll move on from there." I breathe out, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. "Look, I'm quite certain that she and I are going to end up saying some... ugly things, and I would much rather you not be here to hear them."

She huffs in annoyance. "I don't like it."

"I don't expect you to," I say, chuckling lightly. "I'll call you as soon as it's over."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

* * *

My mother and I don't actually get around to talking until the late afternoon. As soon as Rachel leaves, she says something about having a bath that ends up taking nearly two hours. I do some packing while I wait, choosing the most essential things and setting them aside. I absently wonder if she'll set a timer the same way my father did all those years ago, and I'm almost relieved that I haven't exactly allowed myself to _live_ in this room. There's nothing remotely nostalgic about it, and that's perfectly fine with me.

I fix my own lunch and eat it in my room, sporadically complaining to Rachel about my mother's tactics of avoidance through text message. She's almost as antsy as I am, threatening to come back and fetch me. I assure her it's going to be fine, and I'm just glad I could type it, so she wouldn't be able to hear the quiver in my voice.

The thing is.

I _really_ should have seen it coming, but I just didn't. I've been so focused on my mother that I almost forget I have _two_ parents. Because, when my mother _finally_ calls me downstairs for this long overdue conversation, she's not alone, and I walk into yet another scene from Hell when I enter the living room.

Russell Fabray.

For a long moment, I consider my options. I mean, I have some: I could just turn around and walk away. Hell, I could _run_. I could stay and listen and nod yes to everything they say. Or, I could fight.

As pitiful as I am in the eyes of Russell Fabray, I do none of those things, because just the sight of him makes the blood in my veins grow cold and I'm frozen in place.

My father rises from the armrest of the armchair on which he's perched, his smile almost predatory. "Why, hello, Sweetheart," he says, entirely too pleasant. "It's nice to see you again."

My nostrils flare, but no other part of me is able to move.

"Come sit with us," he says, waving a hand. "Your mother thought it would be good for you and I to have a nice, little chat."

 _Nice, little chat_.

As if we've even spoken at all since that fateful night he decided a pregnant, teenage daughter was too much to overlook. I'm also distinctly aware that the chances of this conversation involving only words are rather slim. I _really_ should have seen this coming. I mean, my mother was literally _with_ my father last night. Of course, she would tell him and, of course, he would show up. Gosh, I should have told them I was gay ages ago, and we could have had a happy family reunion.

Realising it's best just to see this entire thing out, I settle into an armchair, my body stiff and spine straight. My fists are clenched, my knuckles turning white. I haven't spoken to my father in months and, until Valentine's Day, I hadn't set eyes on him. While _I_ returned to our old church, my father moved to a town fifty miles from here and I assume he attends a different church. I imagine he has a list of sins for which he has to ask forgiveness.

It doesn't take us all that long to start arguing. My mother and I are total professionals by now and, yes, I'm mad at her for so many things: sleeping with my father, telling him I'm gay, inviting him into our house, standing us up for dinner last night and just _everything_ that happened this morning. And, that's the stuff from the last twenty-four hours. What about the last few months?

She's supposed to be _my_ mother. _I'm_ her blood relation, and yet her loyalty seems to lie with a man who cheated on her and then left her for a younger model. One would think she would choose _me_ in all of this, but -

"Give this up immediately, Quinn," my mother says, sounding bored. "If you don't, we both know what will happen."

"And what's that?"

"I will not have a _gay_ living in this house," she spits out.

I tense at the word. She _finally_ said it. I'm almost relieved. "You'll kick me out?" I ask. "Again?"

She smiles, almost evilly, and my blood curdles. "You'll be on your own again, yes," she says. "No car, no home, no college and no future."

She has _no_ idea what I'll have if I leave this _house_ , but I don't think she's worthy enough to know. I don't even drive anymore. I have a home with the Berry family. I've secured my scholarships and my future is set. God, she knows _nothing_. It truly amazes me that we've been living in the same house for so long, and she knows so little about my life and my plans beyond Lima, O-fucking-hio.

"I don't care about any of that," I say, and she looks surprised by the truth in my words. "So, no, that won't work. Try again."

Almost predictably, she reverts to what she knows best. "It's a sin."

My father picks up on that thread, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You'll be shunned," he says. "Don't you even care what God thinks of you?"

"Do you?" I question, and he rises to his feet. I do too, because I won't having him looking down at me that way. He's still taller than I am when we're standing but I feel considerably better than if I were sitting. "Tell me, Dad, do you?"

"I'm not the sinner in this family," he barks.

"Oh, that's rich," I say harshly. "If you're going to say I'm the sinner, then what does that make you?" I ask pointedly. "What does that make you? Adulterer!"

The slap I receive is a surprise but also not. He's breathing heavily. "You will not talk to me that way," he yells, pointing a red finger at me. "I am still your father!"

"And you sure have a hell of a way of showing it," I scream right back at him, ignoring the stinging in my cheek. "What did you think was going to happen? You could just come in here and threaten me with money? And, when that didn't work, you, what? Are you going to beat it out of me, Dad? Use your fists to get the demon that must be inside of me out?"

He says nothing; just glares.

"Do you have any idea how miserable I've been in this family? Living this stupid life you so painstakingly envision for yourself?" I say, my hands clenching into tight fists once again. "But, now, I'm _finally_ happy. I'm happy, and you want me to give that up because it doesn't fit into your _image_?"

"It doesn't fit into religion!" my mother screeches, and now she's also standing. So much for our rational conversation. "And it doesn't fit into nature!"

I glare at her. "That's your argument? I'm _unnatural_?"

She glares right back, and there's something in her eyes that makes all the fight leave my body. I don't know if it _is_ a battle, but she wins. _They_ win. I won't fight for their love. It's the only thing I've ever actually needed from them, and they've always been unable to give it to me. Unwilling.

I frown slightly. "Did you ever even love me?" I ask, my voice trembling. "Ever? Did - did you even _want_ me?"

Neither of them responds, and I'm left to read into their silence as much as my battered heart can handle. I imagine they had to love me once, when I was still a child, innocent and easily controlled; when I was still a blank canvas, untouched by the darkness of the world and the hatred of an evil man.

"I mean, I had a baby and it tore this family apart," I say, almost thinking aloud. "I've tried so hard to be exactly what you wanted, hoping to get your love and attention, but I received _nothing_. So, I went out and I found people who love me for exactly who I am; who won't judge or hate me for who I choose to love. If you think that's unnatural, then I feel sorry for you."

"And I feel sorry for you," my mother counters, almost automatically. It's as if she hasn't heard a single word I've said.

I sigh. "It's amazing, isn't it? It took a beautiful baby girl born of love to drive us all apart, and it's taken Rachel Berry, who's kind and smart and determined and just perfect, to bring us all together again. It's almost poetic, really. I can't wait to write about it when I get to college."

Well, if I wanted to start a lovely _new_ argument, then I'm successful.

"College?" my father scoffs. "Where do you think you're going? Just so you can, what, soil our name even more with your proclivities?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Right, _I'm_ the one who's going to soil our name," I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "Where's your dirty little secret now?"

"Where's yours?" he roars.

I force away my thoughts of Beth. I won't let him drag her into this. She deserves none of his anger and hatred. Frankly, nobody does. "At least she's growing up in a loving home," I shout back.

"Oh, don't even _act_ as if you care about her," he hisses.

"You would know all about that, wouldn't you?" I shoot back. " _Pretending_ to care about your daughter, right?"

Silence.

I'm met with silence.

"Well, you no longer have to worry about that," I say. "I'm leaving, and you'll never have to see or hear from me ever again. Congratulations, you've finally got what you always wanted." I start to go, needing to get away from this place before I completely fall apart.

He viciously grabs my wrist. "Just where do you think you're going? We're not done here!"

"Yes, we are!" I say, ripping my arm from his grip and ignoring the lingering ache. "We were done the second you first laid a hand on me, you sick, ignorant bastard!"

The slap that follows is considerably harder than the first one and my hand flies to my cheek in surprise more than pain. When he looks at me, eyes blazing, I know I've said too much.

 _Way too much_.

I've grown used to different kinds of pain over the years, but I'll never forget the pain of my father's beatings, lashings, _abuse_. He advances on me with purpose, his belt forgotten in lieu of his fists and his boots. He used to be methodical about this, but it's different now. Now, it's just rage; raw, unbridled rage. He attacks with vigour, punching my middle and my face, throwing me down onto the floor and kicking my body with all his might.

I scramble to protect myself as best as I can, hearing sounds that I can't place. I think I'm crying, but it's actually my mother. I think I'm yelling, but it's actually him. I'm silent. I'm... in so much pain that it's actually numb. _I'm_ numb, and it's as if my lack of sound only fuels his rage. I curl into a ball and try to protect my ribs as best I can, but he's determined; angry and determined.

It's a particular hard and hateful kick to my left side that causes the most damage. I cry out in agony and, when I try to breathe in, I can't. I just... can't. I try; I try _so_ hard, but my lung won't inflate, and I can't create the correct pressure difference for the air to rush into where it's needed. All the other pain dulls to nothing as I struggle to breathe, my hands reaching out for something, anything.

It's getting colder, and my chest feels as if a heavy weight is slowly crushing it.

"Russell, Russell, please stop, stop," I vaguely hear my mother scream, but it sounds so far away. "Russell, she's not breathing."

My eyes shut to the world and, after a few failed attempts to breathe, so does my mind.

Finally.


	40. forty

**Chapter Forty**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _fell apart many times. so.  
_ _what does that say about me besides i live through wars._

 _._

I get an uneasy feeling. It starts just after dinner and, initially, I think it's indigestion or just my entire body missing Quinn, but it only grows after I've had a spoon of _Pepto-Bismol_. It doesn't help that Quinn hasn't responded to my texts for a few hours now. We've been having a steady conversation since I left her house this morning but, now, nothing, and I reason it's either because she's catching a nap or she's finally having that elusive conversation with her mother.

It's just after eight o'clock when the call arrives. I've already managed to work myself into a bit of a panic when Santana's name - and the only picture of the Unholy Trinity I have - lights up my screen. She doesn't usually call me and, even though I scramble to reach for my phone, I don't immediately answer it. I just _know_ I'm not going to like whatever she's going to tell me, and my heart is already beating wildly in my chest. Taking a deep breath, I slide my thumb across the screen and bring the phone to my ear.

"Hello, Santana." My voice sounds steadier than I anticipate, and I'm immensely relieved about it. I don't bother with any other formalities. We're not those kinds of friends, and it's doubtful we'll ever be.

"Berry," she says, and there's a tremble in her voice that makes me close my eyes. "Come to the hospital."

I stop breathing.

"Berry, did you hear what I said?"

I bite the inside of my cheek, hard enough to draw blood. "Quinn is in the hospital?"

"She arrived an hour ago," Santana explains gently, but there's _something_ in her tone that gives me pause. "My dad was in the ER when the ambulance came in."

Ambulance.

 _Who_ called the ambulance?

God, what if she'd been alone?

"What happened?" I ask, finally getting it together enough to start moving. I didn't bother to change into my pyjamas because I suspect there's a part of me that just _knew_ I wouldn't be able to relax without first laying eyes on Quinn after the morning we both had.

"I think you should just come to the hospital," she says in lieu of a response. "And, if you can, you should bring your fathers."

My breath hitches. "Why?"

Santana huffs, and then sucks in a sharp breath. "Russell Fabray is here."

I have seen the man only once in my life - Valentine's Day - but I know I positively despise him, with every fibre of my being. " _What_ is he doing there?"

"Just, get here, please," she says, a touch of pleading in her tone and it's enough for me.

"I'm coming."

The next fifteen minutes are a blur, really. I pocket my phone, slip on shoes, grab my purse, and then go downstairs. My dads are watching television, casually chatting about something unimportant, but they both grow still when I enter the living room. It must be my lack of facial expression. "We have to go to the hospital," I say. "I'll be in the car."

They jump into motion at the same time that I spin around and go to the car. My steps are slow and purposeful, my destination in mind. The car is, thankfully, unlocked and I climb into the backseat, sitting perfectly still and trying to keep myself from falling apart. Santana didn't answer my question about Russell Fabray for a reason, and I'm smart enough to _know_ what that means.

I sit silently, quiet and contemplating, as my dads come out of the house. They ask questions as my Dad drives but I have no answers. I haven't really spoken to them about what happened with Quinn's mother, both last night and this morning. I don't know what to tell them anyway. I imagine they'll be suitably unimpressed with Judy Fabray's behaviour.

Though, I _did_ tell them to expect Quinn.

Maybe.

Definitely, now, because Quinn is back in the hospital. I just _left_ her there, and she's hurt again. I - I should have been there with her. No, _she_ should have been with _me_. Why did I leave? Why did I think it was okay just to leave her there? Why did _she_?

During the drive, my Daddy receives a call about Quinn from the hospital, which surprises us all, but he informs the nurse that he's already on his way. All my forced calmness dissipates when the hospital moves into sight, and my entire body tenses. My girlfriend is in there, _again_ , and I just know it's at the hands of Russell Fabray. I grow restless, and my face twists into a scowl enough to match the emotions churning inside of me. As soon as my Dad parks in my Daddy's designated spot, I jump out.

"We'll find out what we can," my Daddy says, but I'm already on my way to the waiting area, determined to find Santana. Only, I see Russell and Judy Fabray first, both of them seated in the waiting area with somewhat blank expressions. They're just _there_ , comfortable and silent, while Quinn is somewhere in this hospital, _hurting_.

I see red, and it's blinding.

I immediately stalk forward, intent on laying into the supposed Fabray parents, but Santana spots me first.

"Berry, no," she immediately says, standing and rushing towards me with the intention of stopping me from doing something I'll definitely regret. "Berry, you have to be calm," she says, cutting off my path towards Russell Fabray. "Don't do this."

I fight against her, trying to get past. "Let me go," I say. "Let me go, Santana."

"No," she argues, wrapping her arms around my waist and forcing me backwards. "Stay calm. Stop causing a scene. You're only going to make it worse."

"He hurt her," I cry, deflating.

"I know, Rachel," she whispers into my ear. "I know. But, this isn't how you want to do this, and we both know it."

My body sags against her, tears in my eyes.

"I know this is hard," she continues; "but I need you not to be your normal emotional self right now. I need you to pull yourself together so we can deal with all the shit we need to, because Quinn is not going back to that house, no matter what she says. Do we understand each other?"

It takes me a moment, but I eventually straighten, supporting my own weight. I wipe my eyes of all evidence of my tears, set my jaw and breathe in. "We understand each other perfectly."

Santana releases me when I look steady enough. "Good."

Together, we walk into the waiting room and I level a glare at Russell Fabray enough to burn a hole right through the space where his heart should be. Santana grabs for my hand to guide me because I may or may not be fantasising about tearing his eyes right out of his stupid skull. We move to sit directly opposite Quinn's parents. Her father is sitting ramrod straight, his eyes focused on the floor, and her mother is now crying into her hand. It makes me sick, and I unconsciously bare my teeth.

Santana squeezes my hand, drawing my attention. "And they say _I'm_ the scary one," she murmurs. "Remind me _never_ to mess with Quinn again."

I don't exactly smile, but it does ease some of my anger. "Tell me what happened," I say, by voice shaky.

She glances over at me, looking nervous. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"No."

Before she can respond, my dads enter the waiting room and move straight towards me, ignoring the Fabray parents. It's as if they aren't even there and, really, I shouldn't get as much satisfaction out of that as I do, but I do. I really do. While my Dad sits on my left side and takes hold of my other hand, my Daddy moves to kneel in front of me and places his hands on my knees. I'm the 'loved one' in this situation.

"Hi, Sweetheart," he says, almost whispering, before he looks to my right. "Evening, Santana."

"Dr Berry," she says politely.

He nods once and takes a deep breath. "Quinn is in surgery."

I blink. "What?"

"They brought her in with a spontaneous pneumothorax," he says, and then proceeds to explain. "She suffered a sever lung collapse, and her body was starved of oxygen for - " he stops suddenly. "After the accident, she was always going to be prone to further lung complications. They attempted to insert a chest tube but, ultimately, decided that surgery is the best option to complete the repair."

"Is it?" Santana asks him.

He nods. "I've spoken with your father, Santana," he says. "It was the _only_ option left."

Santana lets out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around mine.

I regard my Daddy carefully. "What aren't you telling us?" I ask, because I can tell there's something more. I know him too well and, sometimes, I wish I didn't.

"Her collapsed lung was a result of trauma," he says, and my heart stops beating for a moment. A _long_ moment. "A lung laceration, as it were."

"Daddy?"

"It - it was punctured by a rib."

I practically launch out of my seat, but strong hands keep me from scrambling across the room and committing murder. How dare they? How dare they just sit there as if Quinn isn't in the hospital _because_ of them? My Daddy forces me back into my chair, and I burst into tears. Santana is the one to wrap an arm around my shoulders and we cry together, hiding each other's faces with our bodies.

"She won't want anyone to know," Santana eventually whispers into my ear.

"But how do we make him pay?" I whisper back.

"I'd rather just get her out of there first, and then we'll deal with those miserable excuses for human beings," she says, pulling back to look at me. "We _have_ to get her out, Rachel. We have to." At my nod, she takes out her phone. "I haven't told Britt yet. I don't - I don't even know what to say to her."

I wipe at my eyes. "Should I tell Kurt and Blaine?"

"Maybe we should wait."

"For what?"

"News."

The air leaves my body in one breath. News. Good news. Bad news. Just, _news_. "How long?" I ask, sighing.

Santana glances at the clock on the wall. "Ninety-six minutes."

The silence drags on, and we all sit patiently. My leg bounces from time to time, but my Dad stills it with a gentle hand to my knee. These past few weeks have just been an endless cycle of _drama_ and pain and just the kind of things that eighteen-year-olds really shouldn't have to deal with. I just want to take Quinn away from this place. We had such a glorious week in New York without having to worry about much more than homework and how long we could kiss without one of us breaking for air. I generally won that battle - I have impeccable lung control and Quinn has a collapsed one.

 _Jesus_.

"A hundred and thirteen minutes," Santana says.

I'm vaguely aware of my Daddy leaving and returning a few times, and it's at one hundred and fifty seven minutes that he has news about Quinn. He waits, though, and allows Dr Murphy to emerge from behind large white doors. He doesn't even bother to address _the family_ this time. We're going to listen, regardless of what he claims.

I can't quite explain the relief I feel when he says Quinn is out of surgery and in recovery. She did well, apparently. His voice is strained though, and I suspect he _knows_ exactly why she's in here. Would - would he call the police? God, Quinn would _hate_ that. _I_ would hate that. How are we supposed to take her away from this place with all of that _mess_?

"You should be able to see her now," Dr Murphy says, and I practically jump to attention. Judy and Russell Fabray stand and disappear in the direction of Quinn's room after a quiet word with Dr Murphy. Just the sight of it makes me feel uneasy, and the doctor's next words definitely don't help. "The family requested that she receive no visitors," Dr Murphy says, looking solemn, conflicted and defeated.

"Excuse me?" I say, sure that I haven't heard correctly.

Santana steps forward. "What did you just say to us?" she hisses.

Dr Murphy levels his gaze on her. "Quinn's family requested that she receive no visitors," he repeats, and I must look incredulous. "I'm sorry."

"No," I say, looking at my Daddy for some help. "Daddy, no," I say. "They can't do that. Quinn is eighteen."

He places a hand on my shoulder. "Why don't you and Santana go and sit down?" he suggests gently. "I'll see what we can do, okay?"

I don't move.

"Rachel, please," he says tiredly. "I promise we'll figure something out, okay?"

Santana slips her hand into mine and tugs, pulling me back. We decidedly do not go and sit down. We just stand there and wait, watching as my Daddy leads Dr Murphy towards the nurses' station to talk. We watch them carefully as they use their hands to get their points across and go through Quinn's chart. Dr Murphy even makes a phone call at some point, shaking his head and nodding with a slight frown on his face. When his expression morphs into one of relief and then sudden panic, I glance at Santana in silent question.

"Beats me, Berry," she murmurs. "Your guess is as good as mine."

My Daddy is the one to explain to us that, after Quinn's accident, she had her lawyer explicitly stipulate that her family would have no power over her unconscious state. Her healthcare proxy is, well, a shared role between my Daddy and Dr Lopez. They are also, apparently, listed as her emergency contacts.

I blink back tears. "She was worried there would be a day when she would close her eyes and not wake up," I whisper.

My Daddy wraps his arms around me. "This means they can't make decisions on her healthcare, but they can still exercise a right to withhold patrons from visiting her. And, after the events of tonight, I suspect they want Quinn talking to as few people as possible about what happened."

"Why would they think _now_ would be the time for her to say something?" Santana asks heatedly.

"I don't know," my Daddy confesses, and then grows still. "But this isn't something that's just going to go away. Not this time. I'm not going to let it."

I just stare at him.

He clears his throat. "Dr Murphy, as her primary care physician, is duty-bound to report the incident to the police, cataloguing all her injuries and providing his unbiased opinion, and - " he halts. "I'm going to remind him of his Oath."

For a moment, I don't quite follow what he's trying to tell us... and then I do. Oh.

 _Oh_.

"Even though Russell Fabray no longer resides in Lima, he has a lot of... pull in this town," my Daddy explains. "He's a donor to the hospital, and the church will _always_ support him. By doing what he _has_ to, Dr Murphy is risking his job, and we _all_ know it." He swallows audibly. "But he's going to, and - "

I cover my mouth with my hand. I can't be sure what I'm feeling exactly; it's a myriad of emotions: horror and relief and shock and wariness and just _what the fuck_. Quinn is - she's going to blow a gasket or something.

"This is all just so fucked up," Santana says under her breath.

"The police will be questioning Russell the moment he steps out of this hospital," he says, ignoring Santana's language. "It's likely they'll want to talk to Quinn as well."

Santana and I exchange a look. She's definitely not going to like that.

"But let's worry about that when we see her," he says, almost dismissively.

"But they just said we're - " I start to point out, and he cuts me off with a sharp look.

"It matters very little right now, though."

"Why?"

"Because we're going in to see her as soon as they leave."

I exchange another look with Santana, who slowly smiles. "Damn, Berry, who knew your dad was such a badass?"

My Daddy hears her. "I've been trying to tell her," he says with a shrug.

"Easy there, Doc," Santana teasingly warns, smile still in place. "Don't ruin it now."

My Daddy throws her a withering look, and then we really do sit down to wait. I don't know if we stay in the waiting area to give the impression we _have_ left, but I find I'm relieved to rest my legs for a little while. I'm weary and overly emotional, and Santana and I use the opportunity to contact all the necessary people. Her phone call to Brittany is short and full of assurances, and I just send texts to Blaine and Kurt.

Kurt replies instantly, and I assure him he doesn't have to come to the hospital. I don't know how to explain to him that he probably wouldn't be able to see Quinn anyway. He sends wonderful, encouraging words that I carry with me as we wait. Fortunately, it's not as long as we think because, before I know it, my Daddy is coming to get us, looking weary. We _saw_ Quinn's parents leave and, after Santana confirmed that Russell Fabray was, indeed, called in for questioning, we haven't said anything to each other about it, or him, or Quinn.

"She's barely awake," my Daddy explains as he leads us through the corridors. Santana's hand hasn't left mine at all, and I don't even know if either of us would be able to do this without the other. "Her - her parents spent enough time to make sure she did wake up, I suppose, and then they left."

"It's doubtful either will come back," Santana mutters, and I choose not to comment. We all know it's true.

When we get to Quinn's room, my steps falter slightly, but Santana keeps me moving and we enter Quinn's room together, my Daddy standing guard at the door. Santana gasps softly at the sight of her because, God, the _bruises_. We release hands for the first time, separating to stand on opposite sides of Quinn's bed. She's so still, so _peaceful_. Her hair is pushed back, and she has an oxygen mask obscuring her perfect face.

I step closer to the bed and immediately take her hand, her skin marred with deep purple marks. She stirs at the movement and her eyes blink open. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust but they can't seem to focus, so I move closer. Much closer.

"Hi, baby," I whisper, resting my forehead against hers and decidedly not caring what it looks like to the outside world. "God, I missed you."

She just hums, her eyes shutting tightly again as she focuses on her breathing.

"Why do you keep doing this to me?"

Her eyes open, shining with tears. "I'm sorry," she whispers through her oxygen mask, her voice raspy and painful. "I'm so sorry."

"Stop," I say, pulling back and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Stop that, okay?"

"That's right," Santana says, drawing Quinn's attention to where she's standing on the other side of the bed. "Just, you know, focus on getting better, because I'm tired of acting the Head Bitch. I'm not diplomatic enough."

Quinn's eyes smile, even if her mouth doesn't.

"She really isn't," I agree, and smile at the look of indignation Santana sends me. I run a hand over Quinn's hair, internally swooning at the way she leans into my touch. "Dr Murphy says you did well," I tell her. "Should be out of here any day now, bossing people around and glaring them into submission."

Santana cackles. "Gosh, you two really are a match made in heaven, aren't you?"

* * *

'Any day now' turns out to be three days' time. As expected, Quinn wasn't thrilled about the kinds of questions the police asked her, but she won't discuss it with me. It's fruitless task anyway. Even if the police managed to make a case against Russell Fabray, he has the money to hire the best lawyers, and we all know he's not against dragging Quinn - or his ex-wife, even - through the mud. Quinn's sexuality might even become public knowledge.

So, we're forced to... settle, I suppose. A Restraining Order and an empty promise later, Quinn can finally focus on her healing.

The only time I've been able to see Quinn has been in the evenings. She's usually awake then, which is good, I suppose. I just miss her, and I can't wait for her to come home. So, when she tells me she's being discharged on Wednesday afternoon, I go into a bit of a tailspin at the very idea of Mrs Fabray taking her back to _that house_ , and - what? Just leaving her to take care of herself? Blackmailing her into bending to her will? Gosh, what if she attempts to exorcise her or something equally dramatic and ridiculous?

Despite Mrs Fabray's assurance that she wouldn't let Russell anywhere near Quinn again - sure, she's _way_ more binding than a police document - I don't trust her and my dangerous imagination is the reason I drag Santana into an empty classroom and explain my idea to her. She's surprised for only a beat before she hastily agrees.

"At least it's not illegal," she comments, and then we go our separate ways until after Glee on said Wednesday. I drive straight home, forgoing extra practice, and inform my dads of what's happening over the phone. My Daddy tells me he's on his way home, and I wait for Santana to fetch me for our _own_ trip in the opposite direction.

"Have you always wanted to be a doctor?" I ask Santana conversationally, once we're on our way. I have an abundance of nervous energy, and my leg is bouncing as I sit in the passenger's seat.

If she's surprised by my attempt at conversation, she doesn't say so. "Ever since I was little, yes," she says. "I think most kids have that dream at some point, but it kind of stuck with me."

"Because of your dad?"

"He was definitely part of it," she admits; "but now I think it's more to do with Quinn, to be honest."

"How so?"

"Even if she's never really believed in herself before this year, she's always believed in others," she explains. "The only reason I wouldn't become a doctor is if I managed to convince myself I _couldn't_ , but Quinn wouldn't let me. She believes in other people's talents and ambitions and dreams too much, because she wants _everybody_ to get out of this fucking hellhole, even if she doesn't."

I nod in understanding.

"She always used to fangirl whenever you sang," she tells me. "I used to tease her mercilessly."

"You _still_ tease her mercilessly."

Santana sighs happily. "She just blushes _so easily_. How can I not?"

That much is true. Quinn's pallor gives away the rush of blood to her skin's surface much too often, and I love it. I love the sight of it because it's proof she's alive and, well, breathing and feeling, which is how we find her when we finally arrive at the hospital. She's lying perfectly still on her bed, hands clasped over her abdomen with her eyes closed.

"Hey, Bitch," Santana says, startling her.

Quinn's eyes fly open in alarm, a grimace clouding her features. "What the - "

"Hi," I say, moving towards the bed.

"What's happening?" she asks, looking perplexed.

I pick up Quinn's Cheerios Letterman from the bed and throw it at Santana before moving towards Quinn's broken body to help her up. Thankfully, she's already dressed and ready to go, just waiting for her mother to get it together and fetch her. "Well, we're, umm, we're getting you out of here," I tell her.

"You're what?"

Santana moves to the other side of the bed. "We're taking you home, Quinn."

"Home?"

"To my house," I say. "I would much rather die than let you go back to that house of yours."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Okay, easy there, Berry," she says; "Let's not get dramatic here."

"Santana," I say; "we're about to kidnap Quinn. I think this entire situation is dramatic enough, don't you think?"

Quinn's eyebrows rise in question. "Wait. We're doing what now?"

I glance at her. "We're... kidnapping you...?"

Santana snorts. "Does it count as kidnapping if she's coming willingly?" Then: "And, is it still _kid_ napping if she's no longer a kid?"

"Well, she _is_ younger than both of us," I point out.

Quinn looks between the two of us, looking bewildered and confused. "What is happening right now?"

I ignore her question as I ease her into a sitting position and help her turn, dropping her legs off the edge of the bed. She makes a few sounds of protest, but her face remains remarkably calm. She's in pain, that much is obvious, but she seems in less pain than she was after the accident. Her shoulder injury hasn't been aggravated, which is a small mercy, but her ribs are -

"Oh - kay," Quinn suddenly says, her eyes closing tight.

I place my hands on her shoulders to steady her. "Easy there," I whisper. "Slowly."

"Oh, I'm in _such_ a rush," she says sarcastically, and I roll my eyes. "Do I have to use the wheelchair?" she asks.

Santana nods. "Damn straight," she says. "I have to film it this time. I need all the blackmail I can get, Fabray. I'm going to be playing the footage at your fucking wedding."

Quinn and I exchange a significant look, and I break out into a smile first. "She's not getting anywhere near our wedding," I say.

She grins at me. "Yes, dear."

I can't resist bending slightly to kiss her forehead, and Santana makes her patented gagging noise. Ignoring her childishness, I slide my hands down Quinn's arms until I've clasped her fingers. "Are you ready?"

"No," she mutters. "But, okay." Taking a fortifying breath, she braces herself and clenches her teeth.

"One, two, three," I count, and then she rises, using my hands for support. Her face contorts and I desperately try not to cry. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "Baby, I'm so sorry." I want to hold her, just pull her close and never let her go, but I resist the urge. I would probably cause her more pain.

Santana rushes out of the room and returns with a porter, a nurse and a wheelchair. The nurse does a final check of Quinn's paperwork while the porter and I get Quinn situated in the wheelchair. Santana stuffs the rest of Quinn's things into her duffel bag, shoulders it, and then we're ready to go. The porter - Henry, as he introduces himself - rolls Quinn out of the room as Santana and I follow. We have to stop by the pharmacy to pick up her medication, and Santana goes out to bring the car around to the front.

I keep a hand on Quinn's shoulder as we wait, just needing to touch her in some way and _know_ she's there. The fresh air seems to do her some good and her breathing is steady. She's obviously paying very close attention to it. There isn't much the doctors can do for her right now, other than give her the necessary medication and remind her to rest. Her body is battered and bruised, and it needs time to heal.

It would be further along in this process if Russell Fabray hadn't decided he suddenly wanted to pay attention to his daughter.

When Santana rolls up, Henry and I help Quinn into the passenger seat. Santana, thankfully, left her own SUV at home and thought to bring her mother's _Prius_. It's low enough for Quinn not to struggle, and just high enough for her not to fall into the seat. It's also really amusing to see badass Santana Lopez driving a _Prius_. Now, _that's_ footage to be saved for somebody's wedding. I can just imagine it now.

The drive home is made in silence, each of us lost in thought. I sit directly behind Quinn, on the edge of my seat, with my hand gently resting on her right shoulder. She rests her head on my hand, and I occasionally squeeze, just to make sure she doesn't fall asleep before we get her back into bed.

My Daddy is already at home to meet us, and he helps us get Quinn situated and administers all the necessary medication. She's asleep before her small snack can even digest, and, if this entire situation weren't so sad, it would be amusing.

When Santana, my Daddy and I retire downstairs, he leads us into the kitchen. "So, am I the only one who needs a stiff drink right about now?" he asks, almost conversationally, and Santana turns surprised eyes on me.

"Well, damn, Berry, did I call your dad badass or what?"

It's the first time I laugh all day.

* * *

"Jesus," Santana huffs. "How much shit does this bitch have?"

Brittany giggles behind her hand as she walks further into Quinn's bedroom. "It's not a lot, San," she says. "Just... the books."

"Does she really expect us to bring them all?" Santana asks, sounding apprehensive.

"She doesn't expect us to bring anything at all, remember?" I point out, alluding to Quinn's almost blasé attitude about her belongings. All she asked for was her notebooks and the little lamb on her bed. She was a little out of it though because, from the state of her room, it's obvious she already started packing. My heart twists a little at the idea that she was expecting to leave this house one way or another after this past weekend.

It seems she was successful.

"Even if we don't take everything with us today, we should still just pack it up," I suggest, even though I would really like to finish it all today. "I'm sure we'll be able to return if needs be."

"Sure, whatever, Berry," Santana mumbles, and then we get to work. Quinn already has an entire suitcase dedicated to the books and trinkets she wanted to take with her. She's already boxed her own record player and vinyls that aren't already at my house. Her closet is practically a skeleton already, and I reason the things she's left behind must be items personally given to her by her mother or her sister. Just, things she doesn't particularly _like_.

"It's ugly stuff anyway," I say, and Santana actually cackles.

"Says the girl who _still_ wears Argyle sweaters."

I raise my eyebrows. "I'll have you know that Quinn has grown rather fond of my sweaters."

"Oh, I'm sure," Santana says; "she _loves_ to take them off you, doesn't she?"

"As a matter of fact, she does," I huff, fighting a blush.

"Are you even hearing yourself?"

Before I can respond, my phone pings and I immediately reach for it, just managing to ignore the whipping sound and gesture Santana makes. It's moot, though, because Quinn's phone is actually _here_ somewhere, which is the bulk of the text my Daddy has just sent me.

 ** _Daddy: She's out like a light, so you don't have to hurry. Remember her phone - she was asking for it - and all the other essentials. Clear out her bathroom cabinet as well. I need to catalogue all her medication. Call if you need anything. I love you._**

I send a quick reply of affirmation, before I see to the instructions in his message. Quinn's phone seems the most vital right now. I make a first, all important, trip to the car, and then return to the room to oversee. Despite Santana's quiet grumbling, we're done with everything within a half hour. We take the items down one at a time, packing it all into Santana's SUV. We leave the excess books for last, and then have the longest debate over whether or not we should struggle to get them down the stairs or come back another time.

"It's only three boxes," I say.

"Of _books_ , Berry," Santana argues. "We're not shuffling feather pillows here."

"I thought you were Cheerios."

"Cheerios or not; that shit is heavy."

I sigh. "Are you going to want to come back here?"

"I don't _want_ to do anything," she returns heatedly. "Urgh, fine, we'll take the fucking books."

It's a struggle. Besides the heaviness of the books, we also have to make sure the actual boxes don't break under their weight, which requires us to support their bottoms. It takes us an impossibly long time to get all three boxes down the stairs, and then out to the car, and then into the SUV. It takes us long enough that Mrs Fabray comes home.

"Well, _fuck_ ," Santana says as the woman pulls into her own driveway.

Now, I expect some kind of confrontation. I expect explosions and a heated argument. I mean, we practically _stole_ the woman's daughter, so I expect _something_ , but we get nothing. Mrs Fabray just gives us a look, almost sizing us up, and then goes into the house.

Santana looks at me, puzzled. "Just when I think I've got the Fabray women figured out, I don't."

I shake my head in amusement, as we force the last box into the car.

"Is that everything?" Brittany asks, slamming the back door closed.

I glance at the house. A large part of my nature requires I go back into the house to make certain we've taken everything, and another part of my nature is screaming _self-preservation_. Going inside is like stepping into the devils' lair, which is what I do. I'm not afraid of Mrs Fabray. I feel a lot of other things towards her right now, but fear is not one of them.

Not anymore, at least.

I enter the house quietly and rush up to Quinn's room. I check the closet, the bathroom and under her bed for anything we've missed. I open the drawers of her desk and grab a few leftover _Post-It_ pads and three random pens. When I'm satisfied, I step towards the door and give the room a last look.

It's empty.

It's _always_ been empty.

I turn to go, but pause at the sight of Brittany's painting tacked to Quinn's door. How could we forget this? I peel it off with a small smile, enjoying how final this seems. Quinn is done with this house; she's free of its pain and expectations and disappointments. With that thought, I head down the stairs with the intention of leaving and never returning, only to be stopped in my tracks by the sound of Mrs Fabray's voice.

"Rachel?"

I stop mid-step and spin to face her as she emerges from the living room with a medium-sized box in her hands. I don't say anything as she approaches.

"These - these are some more of Quinn's things," she says, her voice shaky. "Just things she kept lying around. A few books, trophies and photo albums. Piano music and CDs. I don't know if she'll want them, but you should still take them... in case."

Silently, I lay Brittany's painting atop the box and take it from her. We both stare at the picture; at its innocence. An innocence Quinn was never afforded in this house, and we both know it. It's a truth that sits heavily over us all, and will never leave us. This woman failed her daughter in unthinkable ways, and I'm determined to be someone Quinn needs and wants.

There's a slight jingle as she retrieves something from the pocket of her blazer. Carefully, she produces a set of car keys and holds them out for me. "It's Quinn's car," she says. "I made sure it's in her name. I - I know she's not driving right now, but she might, and I just - " her voice catches. "I mean, she can sell it if she wants to, but it's hers, so you should take it."

I hesitate because I don't know how Quinn will react.

"Please," she says, and I immediately shift the box under one arm to reach for the keys. "I'll open the garage for you."

I don't even know what to say right now, my fingers closing around the set of keys and they feel cold and heavy in my hand. It feels like a weight, and I think we _will_ sell this God-awful car.

"Will you tell her I'm sorry?" she whispers after a moment. "Will you tell her? I'm sorry, and I do love her. I've always just wanted what was best for her... and now I know it's never been _us_."

There are so many things I want to say; biting and nasty things. I want her to hurt in _every_ way. I want her to feel the kind of pain Quinn has had to suffer for months and years, but the words won't come. She - she looks devastated. I mean, she _should_ , but it's still difficult to see it because she looks scarily like Quinn sometimes and I just _can't_ say the words.

So, I say nothing. I just nod once, take a breath, and then leave.

She lets me.

My hands are shaking when I get to Santana's car and drop the last box onto the passenger's seat. "I'll follow you in Quinn's car," I tell her.

She frowns. "Whoa whoa whoa, Berry, I know we decided to pick up Quinn's things, but I got accepted into NYU and I do not need grand theft auto on my rap sheet."

"Her mother gave me the keys," I inform her. "We're just going to take it and s-see what happens."

Santana nods slowly. "Okay."

I feel slightly uneasy climbing into the brand new car. As far as I know, I'm the first person besides the salesman to drive it, and I don't like it at all. For some reason, it feels _dirty_ , as if it's the Fabrays' penance for all they've done to Quinn. Still, I shift the car into gear and follow behind Santana. Quinn will decide what she wants to do with it.

When we get back to my house, Kurt and Blaine are there to help us carry in Quinn's few belongings. Some of it goes to my bedroom but the rest of it gets piled outside the guest bedroom, in which Quinn is still asleep. We try to make as little noise as possible, and it really helps that she's still a little loopy from her painkillers. I make sure to hide the chest of notebooks in the back of my closet. It was the first thing I removed from the Fabray house and the first thing I brought into this one, and I imagine Quinn would appreciate that.

Santana, Brittany and I leave the boxes of books for the boys, and they complain about them almost as much as we did. The things we do for Quinn Fabray, really. The girl who makes it amazingly easy and so difficult to love her. Once everything is in the house, the five of us descend on the kitchen. I promised to feed them in exchange for their help today, and my Daddy prepared some food for us because _I_ would probably end up killing them or something. He even made non-vegan foods, which goes over really well with Santana.

I can't really bring myself to eat because Quinn asked me to explain to Kurt and Blaine - very briefly - what happened with her family. She doesn't want them to know the full story but, in order for them to _know_ her the way she's decided she wants them to, they have to know part of it. So, while we sit in the living room, I sip at a _Vitamin Water_ and explain that Russell Fabray is every bit the evil man they imagine him to be. Kurt cries, Brittany curls into Santana's side, and Blaine looks positively horrified. Santana is as stoic as ever, and my leg bounces.

"We'll make her happy again," Brittany says when I've finished, sitting back. "We can do it, can't we, San?"

"Of course, B," Santana murmurs.

We collectively nod in what feels like a silent pledge to ourselves, each other and Quinn. _Welcome to the Quinn Management Team_ , I want to say, but I'm too emotional to say much else. Before they leave, I get hugs from them all - including Santana, oh my God - and then go upstairs to check on Quinn. She's rolled a bit more onto her right, but she's obviously still asleep. That means very little, though, and I waste only a second before I pad across the carpet and slide into bed beside her, placing my hands in their safe positions. She shifts slightly, hums in content, and then grows still again. I watch her closely, taking in the perfect lines of her face and the delectable column of her throat. She's all smooth, pale skin, with tiny freckles and small scars. Her breathing is slow today, and I watch her chest rise and fall.

She's _here_. She's safe, and she's here with me.

I'm going to keep her safe. I'm going to protect her. It's the vow I make to both myself and to her as I too drift to sleep, experiencing our first nap together in the guest bedroom. She's in here for appearances sake. Other people have visited, and she can't exactly be sleeping in _my_ bedroom, can she? My Dad also thinks it's good for Quinn to have her own space, where she can keep her own things and her own clothes. He also joked that cohabitation might put strain on our relationship. I wasn't able to find it funny, though, because our relationship has already suffered through more than enough, if you ask me.

When my eyes next open, Quinn is awake. Her eyes are open and she's watching me with a look in her eyes I've never seen before.

"Hi," I say, resisting the urge to move so I can give her the once-over.

"Hi," she breathes, smiling ever so slightly. "You're back?"

I nod.

"Was the mission successful?"

I nod again, smiling ever so slightly. Sometimes, she's such a nerd. "Everything you wanted us to bring is now in this house," I inform her, and then bite my bottom lip in contemplation.

"What?"

I hum in thought. "Well, we may or may not have encountered your mother."

She stiffens at the mention of Judy Fabray, but she pushes through the emotions of it. "Did she say something to you?"

I lick my lips. "She gave me a box of things," I explain. "Books and photo albums and random things, I think."

"Oh."

"And, well, she also gave me your car keys."

Quinn's brow furrows. "What?"

"The car is yours," I explain. "The papers are in the glove compartment, Quinn. She - she was adamant you have it. She was oddly... emotional."

"I imagine she would be," Quinn says flatly, voice devoid of any and all emotion. "She just lost her child, all over again."

I can't help thinking that Mrs Fabray lost her child _to me_.

"I'm sorry," she whispers brokenly, her grip tightening on my upper arm. "I'm so sorry."

I shake my head. "God, Quinn, why are _you_ sorry?"

"All I've done is bring problem after problem into your life," she says. "What I want, right now, is to take you somewhere far away from here, wrap you in my arms and enjoy an easy, simple life with you, where we don't have to deal with any of this shit. I just want to _be_ with you, without any worries or expectations or secrets. I want to shower you with love and be better and treat you the way you deserve to be treated. God, I just want to be with you, Rachel, and I don't know how to do that when all of this stuff keeps happening. I mean, is it too much to ask for an _easy_ day?"

Despite the severity of the conversation, I find myself smiling.

"What?" she asks, utterly perplexed.

"We want exactly the same thing," I tell her. "I - I had that thought while you were in the hospital. All I want is to take you as far away from this place as possible and just keep you safe and healthy and happy."

She smiles through the sudden tears in her eyes. "Do you know what I think?" she asks softly. "I think we don't even have to _go_ anywhere. I just need to be _with you_ to be all of those things."

"Oh, Miss Four-Point-Oh GPA, I think that's the smartest thing you've ever said."


	41. forty-one

**Chapter Forty-One**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _there is peaceful.  
_ _there is wild.  
_ _i am both at the same time._

 _._

Before she leaves me at the Berry home, Santana explicitly tells me to make sure I get rest, to be needy and not to do anything crazy. I've - sort of - succeeded in one of those things. I'm definitely getting plenty of rest, but I still feel too awkward asking for help from LeRoy - he's designated himself my nurse - which makes me attempt to do things myself. Hence, the _crazy_. I really just wish I could put on my socks without any help. Is that too much to ask?

LeRoy is attentive and kind, and he never mentions my obvious incapabilities. He smiles and jokes and makes sure I'm eating and taking my medication. They're all things I would be doing myself if I were at the Fabray house and, as eternally grateful as I am, I can't help but feel like a burden. I love them all, I do; but I wouldn't want any of _this_ to alter our relationships. LeRoy constantly assures me it's what parents do. They _look after_ their children, and he wouldn't have anyone else doing it but him or Hiram.

I cry every time. I'm really an emotional wreck, and LeRoy finds it a little amusing even though he probably wouldn't say it out loud. I see it in his eyes, mirthful and expressive, whenever he quietly berates me for being the worst patient imaginable or whenever we discuss sea turtles and the possibility of Brittany having an actual time machine. We discuss the physics of it in great detail until we end up talking about _A Wrinkle In Time_. How we get to the topic of my writing, I'll never know, but he says words about the future and my heart rate rises dangerously.

Everything is changing.

It feels as if it's getting _better_.

As much as I've accepted where I want to go and what I want to do with the rest of my life; we're coming to the part where I actually have to _do_ it. It's terrifying and exciting and I can't wait, but I still can. Because, right now, this time is what I have with Rachel, and I'm determined to make it the best few months of her life. I'm going to spoil her and love her and make her laugh and cry from sheer joy and happiness. It's - it's what I'm living for.

Rachel Berry, who pouts adorably when LeRoy constantly has to remind her I won't be sleeping in her bedroom. Rachel Berry, whose eyes pool with tears whenever she sees my bruises. Rachel Berry, who sings quietly whenever I'm drifting in and out of sleep. Rachel Berry, who makes sure I have long-sleeved clothing available, to hide my healing arms from the curious eyes of some of my visitors.

Rachel Berry, who whispers she loves me in the dead of night. Rachel Berry, who won't let me forget I deserve love.

Rachel Berry, the girl I definitely didn't see coming.

* * *

The first person to visit me is Kurt, and he wastes no time at all. I've been back from the hospital for only two nights when he shows up on Friday afternoon, looking like a boy on a mission. He strides into the room with purpose, his eyes immediately softening at the sight of me.

"Quinn," he says as a greeting.

"Oh, hey, Kurt," I say, just about managing a smile as he walks further into the room. "Have you joined the Quinn management team now?"

He frowns in confusion, coming to sit in the chair beside the bed that Hiram brought up from the dining room the Berry family very rarely uses in favour of the more comfortable kitchen table. "Hmm?"

I laugh lightly, and then immediately regret it when it feels as if I've just set my chest on fire. "San, Rach and Britt form my 'Quinn Management Team,'" I explain. "They keep an eye out for me, protect me and make sure I don't drive myself into the ground, essentially. Have they recruited you?"

He gives me a toothy grin. "Well, now that you've put it that way, then, yes, I'm definitely on the team."

I return his smile. "What are you doing here anyway?" I ask, fighting a yawn. "I thought you were staying after Glee to practice your audition piece with Rachel."

He playfully rolls his eyes. "She turned a little diva-esque, and I just _had_ to get away."

I nod in understanding. "As probable as that all sounds, Kurt; I can tell you're here for a very specific reason."

He sighs. "Am I really that transparent?"

"No," I say. "My drugged up mind is just good at picking up on things."

He leans forward, shifting his hands nervously. "Can I ask you something?"

I tense at the severity of his tone, but I eventually nod again. "You can ask, but I can't promise I'll answer."

He bites the inside of his cheek, considering my response. "It's - it's about all of this," he says softly. "It's about _hiding_ it all."

I blink. "Kurt? You're not - nobody's hurting you, right?"

"No," he says firmly. "It's not that. It's just - I used to envy you so much," he admits; "and I naively thought your life _had_ to be painless and just so much simpler than mine. I'm ashamed by my thoughts, of course, and I know you didn't know any of it, but I'm still sorry. I'm so sorry that I ever thought your life was perfect and you didn't know anything about pain." He's crying now, and I'm at a loss at what to do. "If I'd known..." he trails off. "I don't even know, Quinn. I just - I keep thinking about little Quinn, and - " his voice catches on a sob, and _ohmygod_ , what do I do?

"Hey," I say, trying to sound soothing. I reach a hand out and he grips it tightly. "I hid it well," I say. "I've always hidden things well: physically and emotionally. It's probably why I'm such a basket case."

"You're not a basket case," he vehemently argues. "You're just... a work in progress."

"Ever the optimist, Kurt Hummel," I tease for a moment, before my smile slips. "I've been very good at making sure people see only what I want them to see. Part of it is because of the way I was raised, but also just who I am as a person."

Kurt doesn't look any better. "I was also - I was _so_ jealous."

I frown, hearing something else in his tone of voice. "Of... what, exactly?"

He looks slightly ashamed, dropping his gaze. "Of... you and... Finn." He clears his throat. "Only Rachel knows this, but the two of us actually first bonded over our crushes on him."

My mouth drops open. _What_?

"I know," he says with an embarrassed laugh. "I don't know what I was thinking either, but I came to my senses quickly. He's clearly not gay, and you two were happy together."

"We also had a baby," I find myself saying.

"Funnily enough, the whole dad thing made him slightly more appealing," he points out, and I actually laugh. After a moment, he sobers and I panic that he's going to start crying again. "But, seriously, Quinn, I didn't - I didn't like you at all, and I thought awful things about you." He drops his gaze again, his thumb running over the top of my hand. "It wasn't fair of me, because I barely knew you and you were never actually mean to me personally."

I can barely look at him. I don't want my sob story to excuse my behaviour. I mean, Kurt can claim I wasn't actually mean to _him_ , but I've been a bitch for a lot longer than I haven't, and not all of it can be blamed on my childhood and family. That's something I'm choosing to own, and I won't have him or Rachel trying to soften the extent of my (in)action by making up excuses for me.

"I just assumed I knew your life and your story, and it _never_ could have been as bad as mine because you've always looked so put together; so perfect, and..." he trails off.

"It was impossible for anyone to know," I say. "It's okay, Kurt. I've never wanted anyone to know. I - I still don't want anyone to know."

He blinks slowly. "I don't know how you can keep all these secrets," he says.

"It's the Fabray way," I say, and I would shrug if it wouldn't hurt.

He licks his lips, clearly in thought. "Does Finn know?" he asks. "I mean, I know everyone else just knows that you suffered a complication from the accident, but - " he stops suddenly, unsure if I'll react badly to his next words.

"But my father actually kicked the shit out of me," I finish for him.

He stiffens, his grip on my hand tightening. "Well... yes," he says, shaking his head. "I wouldn't have put it _that_ way."

"I've never been one for beating around the bush," I confess. "Sometimes, it makes me a bitch."

"Only sometimes?"

"Hey," I say, and we share a smile that falls away after a moment. "And no," I say. "Finn doesn't know the explicit truth about my father." I take a deep breath. "I'm very good at playing things off as unimportant and, beyond the first time, he didn't ask that many questions about my scars." Despite myself, I turn red at the inadvertent allusion to Finn's and my physical relationship.

Kurt laughs lightly. "Are you seriously blushing right now?"

I duck my head.

"You are very special, Quinn Fabray."

I look up, smiling at him. "I'm really glad I get to know you," I say. "And I'm really glad that Rachel will have you with her in New York."

"Do you really believe we'll be in New York together?"

I blink. "Don't you?"

He sighs. "Don't get me wrong, Quinn; I love performing as much as the next person," he says. "I love singing and I love acting, but the reality of where _I_ could fit into the musical theatre world is definitely disheartening. Our production of _West Side Story_ has shown me that."

I frown. "So... you don't want to go to NYADA?"

"I do," he says, adamant. "I want to get out of Lima, and I want to go to NYADA and perform and do what I love. I just want to be realistic, you know? I'm not leading man material - well, heterosexual man, at least - and I think Broadway might not be the true place for me."

"Kurt...?"

"It's okay, Quinn," he says. "I'll make sure I get into NYADA to keep an eye on your diva girlfriend."

I grin at him. "Somebody has to," I joke. "But, seriously, Kurt, even if you don't believe for yourself, then I'll believe enough for all of you."

He shakes his head and squeezes my hand again. "In all my life, I never thought I would say this..."

"What?"

"I'm really glad I get to know you too."

* * *

After Kurt's initial visit, I experience a steady parade of Glee Club members visiting me. They come in small groups, probably at Rachel's suggestion or insistence, and they don't stay for long. That's probably LeRoy's input, citing that I need my rest. And, really, after all my physical therapy and emotional therapy, I'm usually exhausted enough to sleep right through the afternoon. I like being awake for when Rachel gets home.

Slowly, the visits dwindle to one at a time and, when Finn shows up the first full Wednesday I'm in the Berry home by himself, I immediately feel uneasy. There's a certain look in his eyes that just won't let me relax and, for the scariest moment, I imagine he _knows_ the truth of my relationship with Rachel. I've decided I won't deny it if he asks, but I sure as hell am not going to reveal it. I honestly have no idea how he'll react to it. Rachel and I haven't done anything _wrong_ , but Finn has been known to... react.

I've just woken up from my post-lunch nap and trying to work on my Chemistry homework that Santana makes sure to keep me updated on, so I'm not in as much pain as I usually am, which is always good, but I still _look_ beaten and broken. _That_ was more difficult to hide, but I do have the makeup extraordinaire that is Kurt Hummel in my corner.

Finn, predictably, is awkward when he enters the room, carrying with him a bouquet of assorted flowers. They are red, orange and yellow in colour and, despite my apprehension, I smile at the effort. It seems to ease some of his tension and he slides onto one of the chairs that's been left out for these such visits.

"These are for you," he says, holding out the flowers as if I'll be able to do something with them.

Still, I take them and bring them up to my face to breathe them in. "Thank you, Finn," I say into the petals. "They're lovely."

He looks relieved by my assessment, and I wonder how much time he spent trying to pick out the perfect combination of flowers. It's kind of endearing. "How are you feeling?" he asks, genuine and serious.

I set the flowers to the side and regard him carefully. "Getting better," I confess. "My shoulder is almost ready for action."

He shakes his head, smiling softly. "And the rest of you?"

For some reason, it sounds like an intimate question and I'm not entirely sure how to respond. "Getting there," I say anyway. It's an answer without being an answer, I suppose.

He licks his lips, sitting forward slightly, as if he's preparing himself for something important. "I've - I've been worried about you," he says, his voice gentle and purposeful. "I know you don't want me to worry about you or something like that, but I do. I can't help it, Quinn. I don't know about you, but it's not something that just goes away after everything we've been through."

The more he speaks, the angrier I get. Where was all this nostalgia when he was telling me I ruined him or whatever shit he was spewing to make himself feel better about ending our two year relationship?

"When I heard about the accident," he continues, oblivious to my ire; "I don't even know. I just - I couldn't _imagine_ life without you. I kept thinking about Beth and how she wouldn't get to know you, and I - " he stops suddenly. "I need to tell you something."

Oh, no.

"I miss you," he says, and this is the first time he's being at all direct about it. There have been looks and quiet actions, trying to get and hold my attention, as if I could just read his mind and figure out what he wants. I've done what I can to avoid him but I can't exactly run from him now, can I?

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Finn, please," I say, sounding tired even to my own ears.

"I mean it, Quinn," he presses. "I _mean_ it. I miss you."

I sigh. "What do you want from me?" I question. "Do you want me to say it back, because I'm not going to," I say.

His eyes meet mine, sad and wounded.

"What did you expect?" I ask, residual anger of the past rising to the surface. "You broke up with me, and I figured out how to move on. Why haven't you?"

"Because I can't," he says brokenly. "I _can't_ , Quinn. I've tried, but I don't know how." He leans towards me, and it takes everything I have not to back away because _this is not happening right now_. "I - I think I…" he trails off, and I level a glare at him. "I made a mistake." It comes out in one breath and he nervously wrings his fingers together, clearly waiting for something from me. He's going to be waiting a very long time. "Quinn, I made a mistake," he pleads.

"What?" I snap. "What? Why are you telling me this? Why are you saying this _now_?"

His eyes flick away from my face for a moment before they're back. "I don't know," he says. "I've been trying to… figure things out. The way I wanted to; the way I said I wanted the chance to. I wanted different things and different experiences, but…" he trails off again. "I realised that I didn't actually want any of those things. I just wanted _you_. I made a mistake, Quinn, and I'm sorry. I should never have broken up with you. I want you back. I love you."

I suddenly have a splitting headache, and I pinch the bridge of my nose to stop myself from saying words I haven't even properly formulated yet. I can't even think straight right now. Hah. I haven't been thinking _straight_ since that damn granola bar.

I can't even count on my hands the number of times I've wished for him to say those words to me. That Friday in November, I waited for him to turn around and tell me it was all a mistake; that he got confused; that he never meant any of it. I cried for him, wailed and sobbed, _needing_ him in a way that brings me shame now.

If he'd said any of this to me in November, it would have been so clear. I wanted him then, and everything he represented. We were going to be high school sweethearts, graduate and go to college. We were going to get married, have children and grow old blissfully. He's everything I pictured my life being, from the days of Lucy, until he decided he no longer wanted me. The words still ring in my head, because we could have had _all_ of that, but he decided to ruin it all. _He_ did that, and he doesn't just get to take it all back because he feels like it.

"Quinn," he prompts.

"No," I say, holding up a hand to silence him. "You're just going to sit there and stay silent while I think." I take a deep breath and ignore the stinging in my eyes. It's been _months_ , but I feel just as lost as I did that Friday. I really hate being blindsided. I _hate_ that he can still do this to me, and I especially hate that there's a part of me that still wants what Finn represents: an easy, simple life. Maybe my mother would -

I stop that train of thought immediately. This has nothing to do with my mother or to do with society, or even to do with Finn. It's to do with me.

And Rachel.

Rachel. _My_ Rachel. _My_ girlfriend. A girl who trusts and loves me. A girl who deserves all of the world. A girl who deserves _more_.

I take another deep breath. Without even knowing it, Rachel has been everything I've ever wanted and needed, and I am so desperately in love with her that this pipe dream that I was so convinced I wanted doesn't even matter. I want Rachel. I want to belong to her in every way, and the more time I spend in silence with Finn; the more I'm hurting all of us, and I'm not going to hurt Rachel ever again.

Not if I can help it, at least.

"Finn," I say, my voice steady. "I'm sorry that you're so regretful of the decision _you_ made, but I don't carry the same sentiments you do."

He frowns, clearly confused.

I sigh. I forget this is Finn I'm talking to. "I'm not in love with you anymore," I say. "I don't want to be with you anymore." His face falls with every word I say, but they have to be said. "It's too late, Finn. It's been too late for a long time." Definitely longer than he thinks. "I'm happier now, and I'm sorry if you're not, but this is what you wanted. You broke up with me, so, please, just accept it."

Finn looks like he's about to cry, but he quickly schools his features and they take on something of a determined quality. Oh, boy.

"Finn," I say carefully.

He just shakes his head, his jaw set. "Feel better, okay, Quinn," he says, before he rises to his feet and leaves the room in silence. I'm tempted to call after him, but I wouldn't even know what to say if he did come back. I'm _exhausted_ after that, and my head is still throbbing, so I don't even try. I rather just turn slightly to the right, curl up and promptly fall asleep.

LeRoy wakes me what feels like five seconds later, and I panic slightly.

"You're okay," he says, gently touching my shoulder. "It's time for your pre-dinner meds."

I blink away my confusion, looking around the room to get my bearings. "What time is it?" I ask, my voice thick with sleep.

"Just after seven o'clock," he says, settling on the edge of the bed and handing me a glass of water. "How are you feeling?" he asks, reaching for my hand and dropping two pills into my open palm.

I sigh heavily as I quickly take the pills, drinking about two thirds of the water.

"That bad, huh?"

I arch an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure you _saw_ who visited me today."

"Well, yes," he says. "I was tempted to send him away, to be honest."

"Why didn't you?"

"He said he would wait as long as required."

"Finn has always been so stubborn," I say with a shake of my head.

"It seems you attract stubbornness," he teases, and I laugh lightly, forcing myself not to grimace at the sudden flare of pain in my chest.

"Speaking of," I say; "is my stubborn, yet dangerously adorable, girlfriend back?"

He smiles knowingly. "She's downstairs with Hiram," he tells me. "She didn't want to wake you when she got home, but I'll send her up when I go down. Goodness knows what they're getting up to in my kitchen."

"I don't hear the fire alarm yet," I joke, and he laughs heartily, jostling the bed slightly.

He gives me one last smile, stands and kisses my forehead before leaving the room with the flowers Finn brought in tow. I contemplate asking if he's going to put them in water or throw them out, but I keep quiet and watch him go.

What feels like seconds later, I hear footsteps approaching the room, and I automatically smile at the familiarity of the sound. "Okay," Rachel says, entering the room like a girl on a mission. She settles at the edge of the bed, leans over to kiss me _hello_ , and then sighs. "The _weirdest_ thing happened today."

I shake my head. "I think I have you beat for weirdness today," I mumble; "but, pray, do tell."

She eyes me cautiously. "Don't get mad."

"And... that's a great way to start your story," I murmur. "What happened?"

She cups my cheek and tilts her head to the side, her eyes softening as she looks at me. "I love you, you know?"

I blink. "I love you, too," I automatically say, frowning slightly. "Did - did I do something?"

"Not in so many words," she says. "It's just, well, I could get used to this."

"Get used to what?"

"Coming home to you."

My breath catches. "Oh?"

She offers me an embarrassed smile. "I don't know," she says, shrugging; "I like it though. I like going out, and then coming home and having you here, and giving you a 'honey, I'm home' kiss and just _seeing_ you every day."

I swallow nervously, my mind swimming with thoughts of Yale and Columbia. God, we could _have_ this. I have to tell her. I'm going to tell her. "Well, I quite like it too," I confess, because it's the truth. "I like having you come home to me."

Rachel leans forward to kiss me again, absently nibbling on my bottom lip. "Mmm," she sounds, smiling as she pulls back. "Okay, so, this weird thing that happened today has to do with Finn."

I frown. "What?"

"As you know, I decided to stay after Glee to get in some extra practice for my audition," she explains, waiting for my nod before continuing. "Finn waited until everyone was gone to approach me, and he had questions about... you."

I suck on my teeth in annoyance. "Did he now?"

"Mostly, it was about your health and recovery," she tells me. "I was kind of forced into explaining that you were staying with me because your mother was visiting your sister and there was nobody at your house to look after you. It's easily believable, I suppose, because he knows how awful that woman is. He did ask why you weren't staying with Santana, but I explained that away with the obvious: Dr Berry." She shrugs in dismissal, and kisses me again, slowly and deeply. When she pulls away again, her eyes are shining with something that looks like guilt. "And then he asked me if you were seeing someone."

"And what did you say?"

She rolls her lips together. "In my defence, I had only one option, Quinn."

I arch an eyebrow, expectant.

"Let's just go through the options here," she says. "If I said yes, he would have wanted to know who it was, and what would I have said then? If I said that I don't know, it also would have been suspect, because you're my best friend, and how could I not know? So, really, I was left with one option, Quinn. I had to say no. I had no choice."

I blink. "Wait, so, you actually _lied_ to Finn?"

"Not exactly," she says, her hand on my forearm. "You know how terrible I am at lying, so I had to get... creative. I told him that you weren't seeing anybody _new_ , because you're not. I mean, _I'm_ not new, so I'm not lying. Technically."

I giggle softly. "What a rebel."

"I was quite proud of myself, to be honest."

I shake my head. "I wish you hadn't said anything at all," I tell her seriously.

"I panicked," she confesses. "Why? What do you think he'll do?"

"He already _did_ it," I explain.

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

"He stopped by earlier," I explain. "He told me he misses me and he wants me back."

"What?" she practically shrieks. "He said what?" she asks, incredulous, as she jumps to her feet and begins to pace. "I mean, who does he think he is, just coming to _my_ house and asking you to take him back? It's been five months, Quinn." She holds up a hand showing me five fingers. " _Five months_. What was he expecting, that just because you're apparently not seeing anybody, that you would jump right back into his arms the second he showed any interest?" Her face is flushed and she's clearly angered by Finn's audacity. Quite suddenly, she turns to look at me. "What did you say to him?"

There's something accusing in her tone and I raise my eyebrows. "What do you _think_ I said?" I challenge.

She shakes her head. "Easy there," she says, hands raised in defence; "I'm just wondering if you made yourself clearer than I did."

I must grimace, because she comes to sit on the edge of the bed again and replaces her hand on my skin.

"What? Are you in pain?"

"No," I say. "It's about Finn. I was very clear that I didn't want to get back together with him and I thought I was getting through to him, but I don't think he heard what I was trying to say. It looked like he heard what he wanted to hear."

"Which is?"

"That I expect him to fight for me."

"Oh, boy."

I let out a long groan. "I think I'm getting too old for this," I mutter, twisting my hand around and holding her wrist. Gently, I tug her towards me with the intention of kissing her. I can't wait until I'm healthy enough to do all those lovely other things, but kissing is perfectly all right with me. It's a languid kiss, a slow meeting of lips and tongues, and I'm trying to say so much without using words. "I love you," I whisper between kisses.

"I love you, too."

"And please don't worry about Finn, okay," I say. "I'm yours, and you're mine. You are my favourite person in this world and I wouldn't change a thing that's happened, because it got me to this exact moment, with you. I am so desperately in love with you; I can't even begin to imagine a future without you."

She kisses me again. "Keep talking."

I giggle softly.

"As long as _you_ know," she murmurs against my lips.

"I do," I whisper back. "I really do. And, one day, so will the entire world."

* * *

Rachel and I talk a lot. I mean, it isn't as if we can do much more than that because this healing process is taking a lot out of me. The only times I leave the house are to go to my various forms of therapy. LeRoy takes me every day because he stays home with me, stating that he can do all his administrative work from the comfort of the couch in the living room or the kitchen table. Sometimes, he sits in the guest room with me, humming a tune or engaging me in random conversation.

LeRoy and I are... odd. It's what Hiram and Rachel both agree on when describing us. It's probably because we _do_ discuss the oddest things. Now, I know where Rachel gets it from. She likes to claim _I'm_ the one with the weird facts, but her knowledge on certain things - Broadway and Barbra Streisand - is frightening sometimes.

I learn that LeRoy actually has a telescope that he sometimes likes to take into the backyard on a clear night. He took an Astronomy class in college - it was just for the credits, he explains, and I pretend to believe him - and the 'hobby' stuck. My sister's interest in Astrology fuelled my own desire to learn about the sky, but I've taken a more astronomical route about it. He promises to take me out one of these nights so we can gush about constellations and fangirl about their histories and meanings.

I was worried. I was deathly anxious over what it would be like to _live_ in the Berry home. Everything was so good before, and I've always harboured this thought that actually living with them - in the permanent sense - would ruin it. I mean, from now on, this is the family I'll be spending all my holidays with. This is the family the hospital will call if anything ever happens to me. This is the family that will be proud of my achievements and grieve with me over my failures.

This is my family.

* * *

I make it back to school just in time to plan for the infamous Senior Skip Day. Admittedly, the things I _can_ do are limited, but I'm not going to allow my limitations to hinder their plans. There's already Artie's wheelchair access to consider, and I'm tempted to mention that we should probably consider whether there are any vegan options near whatever we're thinking of doing. Puck actually calls an impromptu Glee meeting during lunch my first day back, and we all meet up in the library to discuss the one day where bunking school is considered a right of passage.

Of course, Rachel has been vehemently against purposefully missing school. Already, her perfect attendance record has been ruined by the days she missed after my accident, but she doesn't seem to care about those as much as she does this. It might be because we're getting closer and closer to the end of the school year, or she's already missed enough days and she doesn't want to add onto it. But, having said that, it was surprisingly easy to get her to agree to it. I expected a debate or a _PowerPoint_ presentation, but all I had to do is mention my interest and she was all in.

Santana leans towards her and whispers something in her ear that makes her blush brightly.

I raise my eyebrows in question, and Santana mouths the word 'Whipped' at me, and I blush as well. Honestly, I'm not even a little bit ashamed of the very idea that I would do just about anything Rachel asked of me. Which is one of the reasons I've been hesitant to mention Columbia. I know, if she were to ask me to go to New York with her, I would. I would go in a heartbeat, which wouldn't be fair to either one of us.

At least, that's what Dr McMaster says. We've talked about the future a lot, and we've discussed what it means now that I've essentially severed ties with my family. It's a little scary to think about and hear her say out loud. It's finally done. It's finally over, and I can work on getting better without the weight of my family on my shoulders. I have to be my number one priority, apparently, but Rachel is right up there with me. We've spent so much time focusing on my messed up life, and I just want us to go back to being a young couple in love, without all this drama.

I want to help her make sure she gets to New York, and I want us to go on simple dates and make out under the stars. I want us to sing at the top of our lungs as we drive to nowhere slowly, and I want to lie under the clouds in the park with her. I want to do nothing with her. I just want to _be_ with her.

I want to give her all of these things, and so much more. I want to give her happiness and a fulfilling future. I want to give her an endless number of blissful tomorrows.

While I'm lost in thought, the group discusses possible options for us to spend our day until we stumble across the idea of going to Six Flags. We'd get to spend an entire day there, as opposed to just the afternoon. After Artie assures them all his experience for my birthday was good, so he's definitely in; Sam turns to me.

"Are you sure you're good to go, Quinn?" he asks, sounding sincere.

I offer him a small smile and nod my head. "It'll be good practice for my return to the Cheerios," I say, and I don't miss the look that Rachel and Santana exchange. I'm also unable to ignore the tightness of Rachel's grip on my forearm when we eventually decide on a time to head to the park. Her nails practically dig into my skin and I'm forced to peel away her hand before she breaks the skin or stops blood flow.

"Sorry," she murmurs quietly, unable to meet my gaze.

I lean towards her and drop the volume of my voice. "Is everything okay?" I ask, resisting the urge to bring my lips to her ear.

All she does is nod, but she still doesn't look at me.

I don't question her further, and rather just listen as everyone else settles on the details of our little excursion. Puck is going to organise the transport - a large van that _he_ will be driving - and Rachel is going to draw up the pickup schedule. At least, we'll be able to skip the Fabray house on that particular roster.

I don't really get the chance to bring up New York or my intention to resume training with the Cheerios because of school and Glee and rehearsals and therapy and, before I know it, our illustrious Senior Skip Day is upon us and we're waiting for Puck to arrive on the couch in the living room. Rachel's leg bounces, and I place a hand on her knee to still her.

"Excited for the rollercoasters?" I ask, arching an amused eyebrow.

"Sure," she says distractedly.

I sigh. "If it makes you feel better, I'm not going to go on any rides, other than the Ferris Wheel."

She looks at me, blinking a few times. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," I say, smiling reassuringly. "As long as you go up with me, at least once."

"Of course, baby," she whispers, leaning towards me and kissing my cheek. "Of course."

"Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

She relaxes slightly, her eyes meeting mine for the first time. "I love you too, Quinn."

I take hold of her right hand and bring it into my lap, absently twisting her ring around. My own is sitting in my jewellery box upstairs, but I'm wearing my bracelet today. Rachel and I have since found a few links to add to the music note, house, gold star, pompoms, book and heart. Now, my wrist boasts an additional telescope, to signify my search... for my star; a little sea turtle, because we've established it's my favourite animal; and the letters 'NYC' because it's a special place for us. "Do you want to know one of the reasons I love you?" I ask, keeping my eyes on her face.

She relaxes that bit more. "Tell me."

"Because your name in Hebrew means 'innocent lamb.'"

She frowns slightly. "As sweet as that is, Quinn; I doubt the meaning of my name is grounds for love."

"Lambs are significant to me," I say; "it's _my_ metaphor."

She hums softly. though she doesn't question me further. I'll tell her one day.

I tip my head forward to lean my forehead against hers. "I love you because you get sad when you know other people are hurting," I whisper. "Because you're the only person who's convinced we can all be better people. Because you've believed in me from the start. Because you absolutely suck at subtlety. Because you give people fair warning before you hug them. Because you're always the first person to congratulate other's achievements. Because all you want is for everyone to be happy and healthy, and I love you. I love you so much."

Rachel kisses me through her tears. "I thought you were telling me only one thing," she grumbles cutely as she pulls away and wipes at her eyes. "I was _not_ prepared for more than that, Quinn."

"Neither was I," I say. "I was never prepared for you, Rachel Berry, but you're honestly the best thing that's ever happened to me. It's undeniable and true, and I - "

"Quinn," she interrupts, covering my mouth with her fingers. "Please stop. I love you, and I love your words, but I will not be able to leave this house if you keep talking. So, do you think you could hold off on these lovely, wonderful sentiments until such a time that I don't have to face our entire Club with puffy, red eyes because I was crying tears of love and utter devotion?"

All I can do is nod.

She manages to get it together in time for Puck to fetch us. I sit up front with him, just to give myself peace of mind, and Rachel sits between Kurt and Tina, who are both discussing something to do with Chris Evans. Rachel doesn't look all that interested in the topic of conversation, which would be normal - she's gay, after all - but her eyes are fixed on me. I catch sight of her in the rearview mirror, but I can practically _feel_ the intensity of her gaze penetrating the back of my head. She's definitely not fully on board with this outing - well, _me_ on this outing - and the fact that Finn is hovering definitely isn't helping.

It's obvious enough for people to notice, and I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. I just stay close to Brittany and Blaine, and try to ignore his pleading eyes or the way he's constantly on hand to _do_ something for me. Honestly, I can throw away my own food wrappers and I can definitely buy my own bottle of water. _Jesus_.

"Uh, Q," Santana says, sidling up to me as Brittany and I wait in the line to get her some cotton candy; "why is the quarterback stalking you?"

I groan loudly, glancing over my shoulder and seeing Finn. He's just _there_ , watching and waiting.

"Quinn?"

I sigh. "He came by the house two weeks ago and said he wants me back," I tell her.

Santana looks perplexed. "Are you joking?"

"I wish."

Her face morphs into a scowl. "It's been five months."

"I know," I breathe. "I told him I wasn't interested, but Rachel may have mentioned that I'm not seeing anybody, so he's determined to... prove himself? I don't know. Make me see reason? Wait it out? Wear me down until I give in? All of the above."

"Fuck."

I shrug, wince, and then hook a thumb into the belt loop of my own jeans. Needing to change the subject, I smile at her. "Will you go on the Ferris Wheel with me?" I ask.

"The fuck would I do that?"

I fake hurt, and bring out my forlorn look. "Why _wouldn't_ you?" I ask.

"Because it's lame."

I don't have to fake it anymore, and Brittany slides an arm around my waist. "I'll go with you, Q."

I stick out my tongue at Santana. "See? Britt loves me."

"Yeah yeah, let's get this fucking cotton candy, so I can ride some _real_ rides."

* * *

Santana does end up riding the Ferris Wheel with me. We're deathly silent the entire trip, but she keeps her knee lightly resting against mine. It's all we need anyway. Words have never been good for us. It's actions. She's not the type to pull a crying Quinn into her arms and console her. She's the type to go out and deal with whoever brought about the tears in the first place. I suspect she's still holding out for the day she gets to beat up Finn.

We're getting closer and closer to that day.

Brittany rides with me _three times_ , thwarting Finn's attempts to join me each time. Then, as if sensing a pattern, Blaine and Kurt join the ranks, riding in a cycle until I can finally get Rachel alone. She's still a bit tense, but it's waned as the day's gone on. I think all she needed was to have some fun to ease her mind of worry over how I'm faring. I am, admittedly, a little tired, and my chest is achy, but she promised me at least one ride.

I have something important to tell her, and I can't keep putting it off. I wait until we're stopped at the very top, my gaze ignoring the scenery in lieu of keeping my eyes on the one person I could probably look at for the rest of my life. She's a greater view anyway.

"I need to talk to you about something," I say, gripping her hand tightly. I'm not sure how long we'll be up here, but I'm pretty sure I'll end up losing my thunder if I postpone this a minute more. "It's... important."

Rachel grows still and she turns her entire body to face me. "What is it, Quinn?"

"It's about the future," I start. "And, about New York."

She frowns slightly but remains silent.

"I haven't been entirely truthful about the schools I did and didn't get into," I say. "I didn't want to make an issue of it because it doesn't actually _change_ anything. I'm still going to Yale."

She nods once, showing me she's listening. In fact, she infers far more than I anticipate. "But, you got into NYU?"

I blink. "Uh, well, yes, but I also - "

"I get it, Quinn," she interrupts. "I would pick Ivy League too."

"Wait, Rach, I also - "

"And Yale is where your scholarships are."

"Yes, but I also have - "

"I get it," she dismisses and I snap my mouth shut. "Am I disappointed you've waited this long to tell me? Yes. Am I relieved to understand that look you and Santana shared? Yes." She looks away from me, and I just manage not to mention the looks _she_ and Santana have been sharing. "But, I do get it, Quinn. It doesn't change anything. You're going to New Haven and I'm going to New York. We're just going to have to make it work."

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say at this point, so I say nothing. I mean, if I was unsure about her feelings about our imminent separation, then her clipped tone right now is enough of an indicator.

She doesn't like it.

She doesn't like it at all.

Not even a little bit.

I sigh. "Rachel?"

She takes a deep, calming breath before finally looking at me again. "Quinn?"

"I love you."

She turns her body slightly and rests her head on my shoulder. "I love you, too."

"We're going to be okay, right?"

She squeezes my hand, turning her head to place a kiss to my shoulder. "Of course, baby," she says. "We're Quinn and Rachel. No matter what happens, we'll always be okay."

I have no choice but to believe her.


	42. forty-two

**Chapter Forty-Two**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _sometimes the night wakes in the middle of me.  
_ _and i can do nothing but become the moon._

 _._

Okay.

I'm not a violent person.

Intrinsically, I'm very calm, practically a lover of all living things. I mean, I'm a vegan; it's kind of expected. So, I'm not violent at all but, just in the last month, I have toyed with the thought of physical harm coming to a certain few people. Russell Fabray, of course. Judy Fabray, sort of. Quinn's sister as well, just because she's not around and practically _let_ this all happen to her baby sister.

And, now, Finn Hudson.

I'm already irritable over Quinn's confession about New York, and now I'm planning all the ways to commit murder. I acknowledge I didn't exactly give Quinn the opportunity to explain herself properly, but I just don't want to hear her say the words. I mean, I _understand_. Of course, I understand, but it definitely doesn't make the entire situation suck any less. In a few months, Quinn will be in New Haven and I'll be in New York. Somehow, we're going to have to make it work and just the thought of it fills me with crippling anxiety. I've even dedicated an entire dream journal to coming to terms with the mere idea of spending days and nights at length without Quinn by my side. How do people do it? _Why_ do people do it?

"Just so you know, I made the offer to Quinn to take him out," Santana says, sliding onto the bench beside me and shooting a death glare Finn's way. I do the same for a moment, and then sigh. This is so childish.

"And what did she say?" I ask.

"What do you think she said?"

I roll my eyes. "Quinn Fabray is just too Quinn Fabray sometimes."

"Tell me about it."

We share a smile before our eyes drift back to where Quinn is talking to Brittany, Blaine and Finn. Quinn looks supremely uncomfortable and, on any other day, I would find it amusing, but not today. Today, Finn's constant hovering is inhibiting _my_ ability to spend time with _my_ girlfriend. He's just there, always, and I just can't seem to relax now that I know the true reasons behind his sudden interest. I'm already stressed enough about this day: Quinn is looking pale and there's also _New York_ , and I really don't need to have to contend with her ex-boyfrind as well. It's doubtful I could take him in a physical fight, but I would cream him if ever came down to a battle of wit.

Santana laughs suddenly, and I give her a questioning look. "It's nothing, really," she says. "Just, you know, if Finn Hudson knew what was good for him, he would back off immediately. You can be fucking scary when it comes to Quinn Fabray, and that's coming from me."

Despite myself, I blush.

"I was worried, you know," Santana says, relaxing slightly as her shoulder leans against mine. "I was worried you wouldn't be able to handle her."

I turn my head, dragging my gaze away from Quinn, to study Santana's face. "Quinn?"

She nods slowly. "Quinn," she echoes. "I don't know the half of it, and even I find it difficult to deal with on most days. At first, when you guys started this whole thing, I wasn't sure who I was supposed to be protecting from the other; you or her."

I swallow audibly.

"But then I realised you were just as invested in Quinn as Britt and I are," she says. "And you're also stubborn as fuck."

I chuckle lightly.

"I know you think the worst is over or whatever, but it's probably not," she continues. "It's never really going to be _easy_ , Berry. It might get _easier_ , but there's always going to be _something_. I'm learning that the hard way, but you've got each other, and you've got me and Britt, and your dads, and Blaine and Kurt - as soon as they manage to sort out their shit - and we're all going to have to help one another survive the real world. We're just like your super gay cheerleaders, really."

"I wouldn't call you our cheerleaders," I say. "You're more than that."

She lets out a breath. "We are, aren't we?"

I nod slowly, my eyes drifting back to my favourite blonde. She's laughing at something Blaine is saying, and I can't help my own smile. I'm really quite pathetic. "Speaking of cheerleading," I suddenly say, my eyes snapping back to Santana. "I don't know how I feel about her returning to the squad... so soon."

Santana purses her lips. "What are the doctors saying?"

"She still has a way to go with her lung and her ribs, but her shoulder is still on schedule," I explain. "We're looking at two weeks. I know she's already been speaking to Coach Sylvester about it."

"Hmm, yeah, Coach is desperate to get her back," she says. "She _knows_ our chances of winning Nationals greatly diminish without her Head Bitch. I think, if push comes to shove, she would just have Quinn rest up, and then throw her into the routine on the actual day. She'd still perform better than some of the sorry excuses for cheerleaders we have on our squad."

"I think I'd prefer that, actually," I mutter.

Santana shakes her head. "She's going to do what she thinks she has to do in order to make sure she gets back up to speed," she says. "When she receives clearance, she's going to want to, essentially, play through the pain, which is why we're going to have to keep a close eye on her, Berry."

"She's such an idiot sometimes."

"Only sometimes?"

I laugh out loud, and Quinn's attention immediately snaps towards me, as if her ears are tuned into my laugh. I smile at the mere thought of that, and Quinn's beaming smile takes my breath away. She's gorgeous, really. Even pale and eyes slightly clouded from fatigue, she's honestly the most beautiful human being I have ever seen. It's almost out-of-this-world, and I can't quite believe that this person - this glorious, perfect, wonderful, tragic person - loves _me_.

She chooses _me_.

Quinn arches an eyebrow at me, and I blush like the school girl I am.

I turn to look at Santana again. "She really is an idiot," I say; "but you can't help but love her."

"It's really a problem, isn't it?"

I shrug. "I don't know," I say, looking back at Quinn; "there are worse problems to have."

* * *

"I'm taking you on a date."

Despite my apprehension about such a thing, I can't help my smile. "Oh? Where?"

Quinn barely looks up from her laptop. "I'm not telling you."

I don't know why I would expect anything else. Keeping me in the dark about our dates is kind of her favourite thing to do. I'm going to indulge her because she looks all kinds of adorable - spelt S-E-X-Y - sitting there with her glasses perched on her perfect nose. I've never thought eyesight-correcting spectacles could be such a turn-on for me, but they are. They desperately are, and I can't help the many fantasies that have involved those glasses and a very naked Quinn from popping into my head.

"Are you sure you're up for it?" I ask from my position on my bed. Quinn is angled away from me, sitting at my desk, but I still notice the moment her body tenses at my question. It's a bit of a topic of contention for us, even though we've never actually _discussed_ it: Quinn's determination to conquer the world, and my apprehension at her going too fast.

"I am," she says seriously, spinning in my desk chair to face me. "I'm well aware of how terribly Six Flags ended," she says, grimacing. It started out fine, but it turned pretty horrible after lunch. As promised, she didn't go on any rides other than the Ferris Wheel, but she faded quickly and ended up having to catch a nap in the van and puff her asthma pump one too many times for my liking.

She's an idiot sometimes.

An adorable one, but still an idiot.

"What I have planned won't be anything taxing, believe me," she assures me. "But I _do_ need to keep testing myself outside of therapy, Rach. I need the real world and all its trials and tribulations, and I would very much like to do that with you. So, Saturday, you and me, we're going on a date."

"Is that so?" I ask, sitting up. "Seeing as you're asking so nicely, huh? What if I'm busy?"

Her gaze meets mine. "Then I'll wait until whenever you're free, but I'd prefer it if you were ready by eight thirty."

It constantly amazes me that she can still get me to swoon. There is still music alive and well in this relationship, even after everything we've been through. Maybe it's _because_ of everything we've been through. I don't think two people can go through all of that and not be changed in some way. I know I've changed, and Quinn has as well. We've changed together. We've changed for the better.

"Okay," I say.

She regards me for a moment. "Okay?"

"Do I at least get a clue as to where we're going?"

"Rachel, be serious, do you _ever_ get a clue?"

I huff in annoyance but I can't help my smile. "Quinn Fabray, will you _ever_ tell me?"

"Keep dating me to find out," she quips, and I immediately rise to my feet and cross the room to kneel in front of her. Quinn looks confused for a moment. "Rachel?" she asks, her brow furrowing adorably. "What are you doing?"

I place my hands on the tops of her thighs and spread her legs as I shuffle forward. Before she can open her mouth to question me further, I reach up and kiss her lips. It's nice having her up and about again, because now I don't feel as if I'm actually going to hurt her when I show her physical affection. It's a slow and languid kiss, our tongues sliding over each other as my hands move up her body towards her hair. I hold her in place as we kiss, and she allows me to dictate the heat of it. What I desperately want to do and what she's physically ready for are two entirely separate things, and that very idea should be incentive enough not to keep injuring herself.

When Quinn lets out a soft moan, I reconsider my stance on just kissing her mouth and trail my lips downward, across her jaw and over the column of her throat. She sighs contently, and then squirms when I suck on her skin, drawing her flesh into my mouth. Quinn is usually the one leaving marks on my body, but it's my turn now. She's also not complaining, if her soft moans are anything to go by. It merely spurs me on and my hands begin to unbutton her shirt, my lips ghosting over her skin as I expose more and more of it in my eagerness. I kiss over the length of her one collarbone, down to the swell of her breast, licking and sucking as I go.

Quinn arches her back, pressing her body to my mouth and hands. I want to touch and explore her more than I want to _see_ her. I love her body, of course I do, but I don't think I can handle laying eyes on her new scars today. Just, not right now. So, I kiss her skin with my eyes closed and explore with the tips of my fingers, relearning every bump and mound of her smooth, soft skin. On my knees in front of her, I practically worship her, relishing the feel of her fingers in my hair. She's guiding me to where she wants me, and I spend an obscene amount of time at her hipbones, marking her. I suck her flesh into my mouth, and then release with an audible 'pop.' I lean back to inspect my work, and Quinn's unsteady breathing forces me to look at her face. She's flushed, glasses adorably askew and pupils blown. She's so remarkably desirable right now that I can barely contain myself.

"I love you," I rush out, and then surge up to capture her lips in a desperate, bruising kiss. When Quinn flinches, I snap back, embarrassed and apologetic. "Sorry," I say automatically. "I wasn't even - "

"It's okay," she returns, looking slightly irritated... with her own body. "Just, maybe save it for Saturday."

I smile to reassure us both. "Deal."

* * *

Quinn is suspiciously absent from the house when I get back from a father/daughter lunch with my Daddy on Saturday. We ended up visiting the Farmer's Market after we ate at our favourite Thai place, and now we're ready for the vegetable wars of 2012. We went a little crazy - him more than me, just by the way - and we're both a little excited about the recipes he and Quinn are definitely going to be trying out with the fresh ingredients. I've been relegated to chopping said vegetables, but I do get to be the designated taster.

And kisser.

"They've gone to see Flo," my Daddy says, as he lifts a note off the breakfast nook that sports my Dad's handwriting, having just deposited two large bags of our spoils. "We _are_ a little late, Sweetie."

I try not to look too disappointed. I haven't seen Quinn since Santana picked her up for practice this morning. Quinn doesn't actively participate yet, but she is up and about, walking around, learning the routines and shouting obscenities at her charges. It's the only type of practice I can actually stomach watching, because her feet are firmly planted on the ground and a cussing Quinn Fabray is sexy as hell. She once told me she reserves her swearing for inside her car - she has always had a bit of road rage - but now that she no longer drives; it's obviously manifesting in other ways.

Other, very tantalising ways that make me want to drag her under the bleachers and devour her.

Something has happened to me. I'm not sure what it is or when it happened, but I can't help my reactions to Quinn and Quinn's perfectly sculpted body. We did _things_ before her second visit to the hospital, and we even discussed sex, even though it was through a post-orgasmic haze. Now, well, we've regressed... obviously. But, it's all I can seem to think about. Just, touching Quinn, holding her, kissing her, and loving her. Really, I just want to be spending all my free time with her, which, admittedly, isn't all that much now that preparation for Nationals has kicked up a notch - finally - and I have my audition for NYADA to perfect. I still have decisions to make regarding my pieces, but I've been working on the songs with my vocal coach, with the aim of perfecting them all. I've been toying with the idea of bringing the audition up to Shelby - despite our strained relationship, I do value her musical opinion - but I've yet to decide on whether that would be a good idea or not.

It probably wouldn't be, if I stop kidding myself. Shelby's failure to reach glory and success in New York just isn't something anybody talks about. Even Jesse knows not to bring it up in her presence, or at all. Sometimes, I entertain the idea of her being proud of me for _this_ kind of accomplishment because it's a big deal for me, and not being able to gush about it to my mother is a little bit heartbreaking. I mean, I haven't even told her about Quinn.

I feel a sense of guilt when I think about that. It isn't as if I think Shelby would disapprove or anything ridiculous like that - she did give her baby to a gay couple - but she would probably say something alluding to the effect my sexuality could have on my barely-started professional career. I already have my own worries about it, and it's obvious Quinn does too. Sometimes, she just says _things_. It's something we're going to have to talk about constantly. I know she's going to second-guess everything once we leave this place, and I'm fully aware it's all going to be for _my_ sake. My proposed career path will be public, which brings forth its own scrutiny and expectations, but I love her and she loves me. We're going to have to reassure each other every day.

"Daddy?"

He pauses in his quest to pack away the vegetables into the lowest drawer of the fridge. "What's up, Sweetheart?"

I hum softly as I turn to face him properly. "Do you have any regrets about stepping into administration?" I ask. "I mean, do you miss actively practicing? Was it worth it?"

He clearly already knows the true reasons behind my questions, and his shoulders dip slightly as he closes the fridge and turns to face me. "You do know it wasn't a decision I made lightly?" he says, and I nod. "I was almost forced into it. The hospital received some backlash from the churches when I worked on a young man who ended up dying of complications even the best surgeons at Johns Hopkins couldn't have prevented, and they needed a scapegoat. It was easier to blame the gay doctor than deal with the grief of losing a loved one." He takes a deep breath. "Ever since I was first outed, I've never been shy of divulging my orientation. It's part of me, which I acknowledge, but it's never defined me. Despite being sent to live elsewhere, I went to college and then to medical school, all while being gay. I did those things, Rachel, and they were difficult. It was difficult back then and, as much as we like to believe the world has made progress, it's managed to regress in other ways. Some things are still exactly the same."

"Like the church?" I offer.

"Yes."

"Quinn believes that, as the world evolves, so should theory and ideology," I tell him.

He nods thoughtfully. "She's got a good head on her shoulders, that one," he says. "She's going to need it to get through everything that's to come. She's going to need it to get you _both_ where you want to go. So will you, Sweetheart."

I nod warily. He hasn't exactly answered my questions.

"Even though I made the decision, it was under duress," he explains. "If it had been only me, I would have fought it tooth and nail. It was discriminatory and unjust, and I would have brought in the ACLU in a heartbeat. Your father even threatened to gather his lawyer friends, but - "

"But what?"

"It wasn't just me," he says. "It wasn't even just me and your father."

I blink. "It was _me_ too?"

"Everything about your life changes when you have children," he says quietly, stepping towards me. "You still fight, but you fight differently, and you do everything you can to protect your babies. I know it doesn't mean much now, but you'll understand when you have your own one day."

I can't help my smile. "Quinn wants four, maybe five children," I tell him.

He laughs lightly. "And what do you want?"

"I want Quinn," I say. Then: "I think I would be happy with, at most, three. I'd like our kids to have siblings."

He raises his eyebrows. " _Our_?"

I nod, confident and certain. "Our."

He offers me a small smile before he sighs heavily. "There was a night, you were still quite young, when someone threw a brick right through our front window. It missed hitting your father by mere inches."

My eyes widen. "I don't remember that."

"I'm glad for that," he says. "I've never wanted you to - " his voice catches. "We've been threatened and degraded a lot in this town, but we've maintained our desire for you to grow up in a loving home where you could flourish and be whoever you wanted to be. We've hidden a lot of the darkness of our lifestyle from you and, one of these days, you're going to face a reality we've been terrified of. I _know_ you're happy with Quinn, but there's always going to be a part of me - of _us_ \- that wishes she were male." He shakes his head. "All I want is for you to have an easy, simple life, because the mere idea of whom your fathers are has already made it difficult enough."

"Daddy, no," I say. Gosh, imagine Quinn as a boy. No. Just, no. She's too pretty to be a boy. "Even if the idea of my two wonderful, gay fathers wouldn't have been a reason to make my life difficult, people still would have found something to pick on. That's just life, isn't it?"

"I wish it wasn't," he says sadly, drawing me into a hug.

I breathe into his checkered shirt. "So, no regrets?"

"No regrets," he echoes. "I'm very proud of what I've accomplished in my career, but I'm even prouder of the family I've built for myself. It's when you make that clear distinction that things all come into focus. It's never been easy, but I have no regrets. My love for you and your father has always trumped everything else."

I swallow audibly, nuzzling into his chest. "Doesn't that terrify you? That you'd be willing to give it all up for us?"

"Every day," he answers truthfully. "But, the beauty of it is that you and your father would never ask me to. Nor would you let me."

And, I suppose, that's where the truth of Quinn really lies. She would never _let_ me. I can fret and worry endlessly about how much I love her and just how much I would be willing to give up to be with her; I can ponder over the mere idea that I would abandon my dreams of stardom just to be able to love Quinn, but she would never allow me to. All I know is that if ever I were forced to choose, it wouldn't even be a question. As much as I love the stage and performing, nothing compares to Quinn.

Instead of running from it, I'm choosing to accept it, because there isn't a decision to be made. Not now and, hopefully, not ever. I get to have both: my career - albeit an altered one, I'm sure - and Quinn.

"No, we wouldn't," I say, because I'm sure of it. "Are you happy where you are?"

"Oh, yes," he answers quickly. "Now that I'm in administration, everything runs through me." He offers me such a mischievous grin that I can't help smiling back. "Now, whenever those lovely bigots have a problem with the way the hospital is running things, they have to go through _me_."

I laugh out a loud laugh, tightening my hold on his waist. "You showed them."

"It's the little things, Rachel Berry."

I sigh softly before lifting my head to look at him. "This thing with Quinn," I say softly; "I'm terrified it's going to destroy me."

He kisses the top of my head. "Oh, Sweets, it wouldn't be true love if you weren't."

* * *

It doesn't take me long to come to the realisation that eight-thirty in the evening is rather late. I'm eager to get going on our date from the moment Quinn and my Dad get home from seeing Flo. She barely gives me any attention, just kissing me _hello_ , and then disappearing into the guest bedroom for her shoulder exercises and a nap. She came in to work on some homework with me, and then she vanished again, allowing me the opportunity to get ready for our date - _it's casual, really; just wear something warm_ \- and fret over what it's going to entail.

I'm definitely planning our next date, just so I can be as secretive as she's being. Though, the secrecy doesn't affect her nearly as much as it bothers me. She enjoys torturing me this way, and she's wholly unruffled by any stunts I pull. She's _okay_ with not knowing things, and it's very frustrating. I'll get her to cave one of these days. She'll see; she won't even know what hit her.

At twenty minutes past eight, I'm ready and rearing to go, my coat cooking me from the inside out as I wait for any indication from Quinn as to how this evening is going to go. I'm well aware we have a system now. We've had to adjust to living together (sort of). She still has her space in the guest bedroom, where she can retreat to and call her own, but we spend most of our time in my bedroom. She sleeps in here, now that she's mobile and kissable. I'm being spoilt daily by the fact I get to fall asleep to her warmth and wake up in her strong arms.

I'm never going to survive the separation.

At exactly eight thirty, a folded note and another piece of paper are shoved under my door, and I jump up from my position in my desk chair. I absently wonder if it'll still be like this when we're old and grey, weary from the trials and tribulations of living life to its fullest. I never want there to be a day when _this_ stops; this excitement and eagerness. I never want the magic to die or the music to end. I'm not naive enough to think we won't go through times when everything _dims_ , but life has its waves, and I reckon we deserve some time at the crest. We've spent enough time in the troughs.

Sighing in content, I bend to retrieve both papers, carefully unfolding the note to reveal Quinn's perfect script.

 _Rachel Berry,_

 _Tonight, we're testing your Astronomy skills.  
_ _LeRoy's telescope is already set up for you in the backyard.  
_ _Text me when you locate the star on the provided map.  
_ _I love you._

 _\- Q_

I bounce a little in my excitement, and then panic at the thought of finding the particular star indicated on the star map that is the second piece of paper. I've never done this before. I wouldn't even know where to start looking, and Quinn _knows_ this. I huff in annoyance and, almost without thinking about it too much, I turn the little note over to spy more of Quinn's perfect handwriting on its back.

 _Don't panic. LeRoy's waiting for you downstairs._  
 _He's willing to assist, and he accepts payment in hugs and kisses._  
 _Did I mention I love you?_

I grin widely.

She knows me.

My girlfriend just _knows_ me.

Bouncing slightly, I head downstairs to find my Daddy already waiting in the kitchen, arms folded over his broad chest and his eyebrows raised expectantly. "Hi, Daddy," I say, coming to a stop in front of him and positively _beaming_.

"Hi, Sweetheart," he says. "Something I can do for you?"

"I do believe there is."

I'm practically vibrating at all this cloak and dagger, and he can't help smiling at my enthusiasm. With a quick shake of his head, he leads me out of the kitchen and into the backyard where his telescope is set up in the centre of the large expanse of dark green lawn. It's bigger than I remember it being, pointing skyward and practically calling my name.

"Do you have the map?" he asks me when we reach the... device.

I immediately hand it to him and watch as he studies it carefully, turning it left and right as he glances skyward until he's found the correct orientation. I step closer to him when he beckons me forward, and he proceeds to explain the map to me, highlighting certain landmark constellations. I've known about my Daddy's interest in Astronomy for a long time, but we haven't done anything like this in a long time. When I was little, he used to bring me out here all the time and hoist me up to be able to see. He even bought me a baby telescope, and I used to set it up right beside his when all the light was gone.

Oh.

That's why it's so late. We're waiting for twilight's end.

"Do you reckon you can figure out the general vicinity of the star we're looking for?" he asks me, looking from my face to the sky. He reminds me of Quinn at times like these, with his own reading glasses perched on his nose and a pensive look on his face. They have similar mannerisms when they're thinking, and I can't help my smile as I move to study the map once more. I do a quick calculation, looking up at the stars several times before I decide on a space to our collective right. His answering beam tells me I'm not completely useless at this stargazing thing.

It takes us a few minutes to adjust the telescope to the area we need it, and then he prompts me to look after reminding me how to fiddle with the focus and direction. It takes me a while to get the hang of it, but I eventually zero in on the correct area and, after much consultation, my _eye_ finally settles on the correct star.

"Oh my gosh, I found it," I exclaim, keeping my eye in position. "I can't believe I actually found it. Daddy, this is so cool."

I expect him to respond in some way but, instead, I feel a pair of slender arms slip around my waist from behind and Quinn bends her body to mould with mine. I feel her breath on my neck when she sighs in content, wrapping me in her warmth.

"I found it," I tell her, practically whispering.

"It's yours," she whispers back.

"What?"

"The star," she says. "It's named after you. It's yours, Rachel Berry."

I lift my head and straighten my spine, turning to face her. "Quinn?"

"Okay, so technically, it's nothing official or anything, but I did contact something like ten star-naming companies and, in at least seven databases, that star belongs to you," she explains, showing me her verbose side. "You already are a gold star, Rach, and this is in no way saying that - " she halts, backtracking. "What I'm trying to say is that you're destined for greatness. It'll be difficult and sometimes you'll struggle and be disheartened, but I like the idea of your being able to look to the sky and _see_ your future. Rachel Berry is going to be a superstar, and I never want you to forget it. So, if ever you need reminding, just look for your star in the night sky, and you'll find all the truth you'll ever need."

I just stare at her, dumbfounded and wonderstruck.

She blinks. "Uh, Rach?" she questions, her facial expression morphing into something resembling concern and apprehension. "Do you not like it? I mean, I fretted over the idea of naming _another_ star after you, because it's a metaphor and all that, and I didn't want you to think I was somehow trying to usurp your - "

I shut her up by kissing her, deeply. "Honestly, sometimes, I'm convinced you talk more than I do," I murmur through the kiss.

She smiles against my lips. "I say important things."

I let that comment slide as I kiss her again. "Thank you, Quinn."

Her grip tightens around me for a moment, before she turns me back around and rests her chin on my shoulder. "I want you to know I believe in you," she says. "I believe in your talent and your worth. I believe in your determination and drive, and - " she pauses to take a breath " - I believe in _us_. We'll get you to your dream, Rachel. That star up there is yet another metaphor. Reach for it, baby. I'll always be right here supporting you."

I close my eyes when they first pool with tears, relaxing into her embrace. "Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you real?"

She chuckles lightly, her breath washing over my skin. "I'm trying to be," she admits quietly, sobering slightly.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

I turn my head and nuzzle her cheek. "We're not going anywhere, are we?"

"No," she says. "I thought we could just have a picnic out here. Just, enjoy each other's company. Talk, laugh, sing maybe. Definitely, kiss."

"I think that's the smartest idea you've ever had."

"It's been known to happen," she teases.

I slide my hands over her forearms, breathing steadily. I am so in love with her right now; I can't bring myself to feel anything other than love and happiness. I'm almost breathless with how much I never want this moment to end. "Is this real life?" I ask in a whisper, already knowing her response.

"It's better," she murmurs, kissing the side of my neck. "It's so much better."

* * *

"What are you doing on Sunday afternoon?"

I practically beam at the sound of the question. "Quinn Fabray, are you demanding another date from me?" I ask, rolling onto my side so I can look at her perfect face as we lie under the covers of my bed. Her eyes are clouded with sleep, and she's mussed and truly adorable. "That would be two weekends in a row."

She doesn't smile. In fact, she looks very serious. "It's not a date, Berry," she says. "Not in the normal sense of the word, at least."

I blink. "Okay...?"

"I want us to go to Columbus," she says. "I want us to see Aunt Marianne."

My face falls and I immediately hide it in the crook of her neck in a vain attempt to stop myself from crying. "Dad and I were talking about her yesterday," I say. "The nursing home called to tell them she's getting worse."

Quinn hums against my skin, offering me quiet assurance.

"She said some things to you, didn't she?"

"She did," she says, sliding a hand along my back and drawing me closer. "I think you need to see her this weekend, Rachel," she adds, her tone serious. "I think it's important you see her."

I don't know what to say to that, so I say nothing. I just close my eyes tightly and breathe her in, using her mere presence to bring me comfort. I've known Aunt Marianne won't live forever for a long time. She's a human being, even if she's been something like superwoman ever since I can remember. She's always been so strong and assured, and I've admired her every day of my life. Even now. _Especially_ now. She's always been a free-spirit, never married and never had any children. In her own way, she's always been cast out from the family, which is why my Daddy was initially sent to live with her. Keep the two outcasts of the family separate and together.

I don't really know _why_ she was 'ousted' from the family, but I've heard her go on and on about a Avery Fields during one of her rambles about her past life. Maybe the family didn't approve of him in some way. I can see that happening. It sounds like a caucasian name, so I can imagine the mixed races could have presented an issue. I don't know. I can only speculate because I've never been brave enough to ask.

But, by the weekend, I realise this will probably be my last opportunity to ask all the questions only she can answer. It's a sobering thought and I clutch tightly onto Quinn during the night before we're expected to visit, crying into her t-shirt and silently praying this won't actually be the last time I see my beloved aunt. She's the only family I have on my Daddy's side, and I don't want to lose her. It's selfish, I know, because it's become increasingly obvious that Aunt Marianne is ready for her own end, and she's only been staying for our benefit.

There's a part of me that thinks this visit will be about her asking for permission to go, and my giving it.

In the end, Santana and Brittany end up coming with Quinn and me to Columbus. We make a bit of an event of it, leaving straight after the three of us fetch Quinn from church, an abundance of freshly cooked food packed into coolers in the back of Santana's SUV. It's the first time I've actually gone to the building itself, and I can't help but shudder at the reproachful looks we get as we wait for Quinn to emerge from her place of worship.

"There she is," Brittany exclaims, and I look to see Quinn emerging from the large door, talking to a tall man in a black robe. She's wearing an expression I don't think I've ever seen before. It's almost reverent, adoring and respectful in a way I imagine one would look at a cherished mentor. He must me Revered Jimmy, whom I know has a special place in Quinn's heart. He's the Christian presence in Quinn's life her father never could be. From what I can see of him, he looks kind and sincere, and he obviously cares about Quinn.

Far more than her mother ever has.

Santana mutters obscenities in Spanish when we do see Judy Fabray, and I spare her but a glance, even as she stares after Quinn. There's a part of me that feels sorry for her. It's the tiniest, minuscule part that believes, if she were willing to change her views and actually _try_ , she might be slightly redeemable, maybe. It could take years, sure, but I think there's a chance. A sliver of hope. It's more than anyone else gets.

Quinn's smile widens when she spots us in the car, and she tugs on Reverend Jimmy's robe like a little kid. He bends his head and she whispers something into his ear. A moment later, they're both looking towards the car, wearing knowing smiles. From here, I can tell whatever the man is saying makes Quinn blush. She ducks her head for a beat before she lifts it again, says something to him, and then leaves his side to make her way towards us. People watch her as she walks, head held high and passive expression on her face. Some look at her in disapproval, but others can't help but admire her. Say what you will about her past actions, her family or the people she chooses to spend her time with; there is no denying the beauty and grace that is Lucy Quinn Fabray. She practically exudes it, radiating right off her and slapping everyone silly.

"It's probably sacrilegious to say this or something, but what is it with Q always looking so fucking hot when she leaves church?" Santana says, shaking her head.

"She always looks so peaceful," Brittany says.

"Settled," I offer.

"She looks _sure_ ," Santana adds.

I bounce over to the passenger's side of the car and open the door for Quinn, beaming at her. She smiles right back, even if it is a little apprehensive, and climbs into the backseat with me.

"Hey, guys," she says, greeting us as she closes the door and settles into a comfortable position. She reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze in lieu of a kiss _hello_. I'm sure I'll get one when we're out of sight. "I hope you weren't waiting too long."

"Nope," Brittany answers, twisting around in the passenger's seat to look at her fellow blonde. "We just got here."

Santana looks at Quinn through the rearview mirror. "What were talking to the hot Minister about?"

Quinn shrugs, a small smile on her face. "Oh, you know," she says casually; "just pointing out my girlfriend to him."

My eyes widen as I gasp. "Wait. What?"

"Way to go, Q," Brittany says.

Santana whoops, looking particularly smug about something.

My eyes are on Quinn. "Seriously?"

She nods, suddenly shy. "He says you're very pretty," she tells me. Then, and I almost die when she says: "also, he says he'd like to meet you."


	43. forty-three

**Chapter Forty-Three**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _as a writer, if someone falls in love with my work,  
_ _i know they have fallen in love with my mind.  
_ _having no idea what my face looks like, they chose my mind.  
_ _art may be the only place a woman can be whole without being seen._

 _._

It's a quiet drive in the sense that Rachel isn't saying any words to _me_. She's happily conversing with Brittany about goodness only knows what, but she's studiously ignoring me. I think she's in shock and, frankly, I don't really blame her. I think I would freak the fuck out if she ever surprised me with her Rabbi and told me he wanted to meet me. She's trying _really hard_ not to acknowledge me as her mind works through what I've just said, but her hand keeps snaking towards me with the intention of touching me in some way. It's cute and adorable and just _so_ Rachel, and I can't help chuckling every time she remembers herself and snaps her hand back.

Eventually, I just press my body against hers, snaking my arm around her waist and holding her close. She doesn't protest, but she also doesn't turn to look at me. Sometimes, she's really stubborn. I nuzzle her cheek before pressing a kiss to her neck, and her voice falters as she explains something or the other to Brittany. My fellow blonde ends up chuckling at Rachel's evident distraction. I kiss her skin again, my tongue poking out to taste her, and she whimpers.

Santana's eyes flash. "No, no, no," she says. "There's no getting frisky in the backseat of my car."

Rachel flushes instantly, and I just hide my face in her hair. She smells like strawberries and almonds and... peonies. I just breathe her in, not releasing her. I don't want her to be anywhere else but right here, with me.

"I love you," I whisper.

"I'm mad at you."

"Are you, really?"

She sighs, turning her head and forcing me to shift, so I can look at her. "Quinn Fabray, you told your Reverend I'm your girlfriend."

"I did, yes," I say, even though she hasn't actually asked a question. "Aren't you my girlfriend?"

Her eyes narrow dangerously, but I don't look away. Eventually, she sighs. "You trust him."

"Implicitly," I say. "Rach, he's known about you for a very long time," I explain. "He, San and Britt are the first people with whom I ever discussed my feelings for you. I think it's safe to say all three are pretty trustworthy because nobody knows about us. What has you so worried?"

She swallows audibly, shifting away from me slightly. "It gets more and more real every single day," she says, her voice barely a whisper. I'm vaguely aware of Brittany increasing the volume on the music to drown out the sound of Rachel's and my private words and I send her a mental thank you. "One day, we're going to be _out_ , and it's just going to be this _thing_."

I wait patiently.

"Doesn't it scare you?" she asks.

"All the time," I confess. "Sometimes, it keeps me up at night. This world can be cruel, Rach, and we're going to have to face things we should never have to face."

She leans into me, her breath tickling my chin.

"I worry about the roles we have to play," I tell her. "I worry I won't be able to protect you, as a woman in society, being in love with another woman. I worry that people will want to test us and question us and try to _fix_ us. I worry people will try to place gender roles on us, try to _change_ us and scare us and hurt us and threaten us. I worry about all these things, little star, but - " I stop, taking a breath. "I love you. I love you, and I'm willing to go through anything and everything - all of it - just to be with you in the right way."

Rachel gives me a chaste kiss before burying her face in the crook of my neck. "We're going to be okay, right?"

"Of course," I assure her. "You said it yourself: we're Quinn and Rachel... we'll always be okay."

She presses her lips to my neck once, twice, and then pulls back to look at my face. "Let me get this straight," she says; "you talked to your _priest_ first?"

I nod, grinning at her. "Yip. Confessions are confidential, remember?" I say.

Her brow furrows. "You told him during Confession?"

I smirk, mischief in my eyes, and lean in to whisper in her ear. "Let's just say that I've had an abundance of impure thoughts about you for a _very long time_."

Rachel squeaks in surprise before turning her head to kiss me silly, and we're just about able to ignore Santana's complaints as we proceed to get _frisky_ in the backseat of her car.

* * *

Columbus looks very different in the day time. I mean, logically, of course it does, but it also _feels_ different. It's almost as if the city holds a different type of secret in the daylight than it does in the dark. Rachel remains curled into my side as Santana drives, following the GPS' directions to Aunt Marianne's nursing home. It too looks different in the sunlight. Now, it's just a building - well, more like a collection of buildings - but that's all it is. I think I wasn't paying enough attention to it the first time I was here, as nervous as I was, but I'm focused now.

As we walk through the corridors towards the Games' Room, a certain heaviness begins to settle over my chest. Nobody is saying anything because we all know how monumental this visit is going to be. I'm sure even Aunt Marianne knows, which is why this is important. It's always going to be important.

"Do you think we'll get to play the balloon game?" I ask Rachel, tugging on her hand and bringing her closer to my body.

She giggles quietly, some of the tension in her body relaxing. "I think that's a Saturday event, baby."

"Damn."

She reaches up and presses a kiss to my cheek. "We'll play it at home, okay?"

I can't help my stupid grin. _Home_. I like the sound of that. "I love you," I whisper.

She hums lowly, her fingers squeezing mine. "I love you, too," she says. "And I love that you're here with me right now."

"Always."

We fall silent when we enter the Games' Room and spy Aunt Marianne sitting in her wheelchair in her usual corner. She's staring out the window, her fingers absently tapping on her fleece blanket covered knee. She looks calm, but still oddly restless. It's disconcerting and I wonder what _I_ look like when I space out.

"She looks so frail," Rachel whispers.

Aunt Marianne turns her head to look at us, and a blooming smile spreads across her face.

"She doesn't look so frail to me," I murmur, and then Rachel is surging forward to hug the older woman. I stand back and watch, distinctly aware of Santana and Brittany hovering a few feet behind us. Rachel rebuffed all their reasons _not_ to come in with us, stating that Aunt Marianne has been asking to meet them as well. A part of me knows she would have liked Kurt and Blaine to meet her as well because it's important to Rachel that she knows Rachel is taken care of when it comes to the friends with whom she surrounds herself, but the boys couldn't make it.

When Rachel releases Aunt Marianne, I get my own hug, and she tugs me down to sit beside her on my designated stool. "I've missed you," Aunt Marianne says, reaching for Rachel's hand and forcing her to sit in my lap. We both giggle, and I wrap an arm around her waist to keep her steady.

"We've missed you too," Rachel says, before beckoning Santana and Brittany over to join us. The introductions are quick, and Aunt Marianne looks at us all with knowing eyes. What she _knows_ , I'll never know, but I, for one, am willing to sit here until she decides to tell us. I think it's going to be one of those days, where she imparts all the knowledge in the world and tries to prepare us for the difficulties we're bound to face throughout our lives.

I do my best to pay attention, filing it all away in my memory for when I'll inevitably need to draw from it. I'm going to need all the help I can get, really. We all are.

"There will be painful moments in your life that will change your entire world in a matter of mere minutes," Aunt Marianne says, and we're all entranced. I think we've all suffered moments like those in recent months. "These moments will change you. Let them make you stronger, smarter and kinder. But don't you go and become someone you're not. Cry. Scream if you want to. Then straighten out that crown and keep moving." She smiles at us. "The world is scared of women like you; women with passion and fire enough to start wildfires. They are scared of what they can't tame or understand."

"Damn straight," Santana says, and we all share a chuckle.

"They are scared of women like you," Aunt Marianne repeats. "Women with hearts big enough to house suitcases of pain. Women with laughs so therapeutic they can heal wounds and end all wars. They are afraid of your power and, my dears, it is up to you to show them exactly why they should be."

Rachel's grip on me tightens from time to time, and she holds me close whenever it looks like the tears are going to overwhelm her, burying her face in the crook of my neck. I've never wanted this for her; for any of them. Not LeRoy, not Hiram, and especially not Rachel.

Eventually, we eat. LeRoy sent all of Aunt Marianne's favourite things and, even though we can all tell she doesn't have much of an appetite, she pretends. We're all pretty good at pretending by the time the last of the pudding is gone. Aunt Marianne then requests to speak to each of us individually, which is... odd. She talks to Santana first, while Rachel, Brittany and I go for a short work around the grounds. There's even a pond, but no ducks. When we return to the Games' Room, Santana is in tears, and she walks straight into Brittany's arms.

I go next.

Aunt Marianne has already told me a lot of things, so we just sit in silence for a long while.

Then: "Quinn," she says quietly, and I move closer. "If you're struggling, you have to tell her. You'll have good days and you'll have bad days, and all you have to do is tell her. You're entitled to your self-care, and Rachel understands that. Don't be afraid to tell her, okay? She'll be right there with you if you need to stay in bed all day or eat comfort food. She'll be right there if you need to cry, sleep, change plans, find your escape in a good book, watch trashy movies or do nothing at all." She squeezes my hand. "It's okay to put your healing first, Quinn. You don't have to be strong all the time. Don't listen to the voice in your head constantly saying you have to be more and more or perfect all the time. You're enough, on all your days, good and bad."

And... now, I'm also crying.

"Feel your feelings, breathe deeply and be gentle with yourself," she continues. "You're a work of art, constantly being sculptured and reworked. Acknowledge that you're doing the best you can to cope and survive this world that, before now, hasn't been all that kind to you. Trust me when I tell you, through all this struggle, everything you are is enough. It's always been, and it always will be."

By the time the others get back, I'm a mess, and _I_ go straight into Rachel's arms while Brittany takes my spot. God, why is any of this happening? Rachel doesn't try to ask me questions or whisper assurances. She just holds me as we walk, sharing her warmth and comfort as Santana shoots worried glances over her shoulder at me.

Surprisingly - or, not really, if you ask me - Brittany has dry eyes when we go back inside. She's practically bouncing, her smile huge and infectious. But it's Rachel's turn now, and I'm sure it's going to be a while. She is too, which is why she gives me a hug and a kiss before she moves to sit beside Aunt Marianne. I watch them for a moment before I feel Brittany slide her arm into the the crook of my elbow, and she leads me outside. We make our way to the pond, just because, and Brittany starts doing cartwheels and forward and backflips on the lawn.

Santana stands by my side as we watch our mutual favourite blonde. "Do I even want to know about what they talked about?"

I can't help my chuckle. "I doubt she had to tell Brittany anything," I say. "B already knows everything."

"That's true," Santana agrees, and we both look at Brittany again. "Berry's not going to handle this well."

"I know."

"She's going to need us more than ever."

I glance at her, raising her eyebrows in question.

"Oh, come on, Q," she says. "Rachel Berry _knew_ what she was getting herself into when she decided to take up with you. The Unholy Trinity is a package deal. If she gets you; she gets all of us."

I can't stop my smile even if I try. "You really do love her, don't you?"

"Shut up," she grumbles. "Berry's like a pest you can't help by endear yourself towards."

I put an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, Santana Maria Lopez," I sing-song; "I promise your secret it safe with me."

"Whatever."

Rachel's tears have dried when we get back to her and Aunt Marianne, and she's the one to initiate our departure. It's been a truly emotional day, and all these days feel _heavy_ with truths and sentiments. Between Rachel and myself, and among everyone else as well. It just feels like a time in our lives when we have to say the words we wouldn't usually say. They just seem more important _now_ , and I won't pass up an opportunity to tell Rachel how much she means to me.

Before we leave, Aunt Marianne holds me back after giving each one of us a parting hug. "It's almost time," she whispers right into my ear. "It's not long to go now, Quinn; I can feel it."

I imagine she can.

"Look after my baby," she says softly, almost as if it's taboo to ask such a thing. "She's going to need you."

"I'm not going anywhere," I say, and I mean it. If I can help it, I'm not going anywhere ever again.

She grips my hand tightly. "Listen to me, Quinn."

I meet her gaze, prepared to listen.

"You are a marvellous being, worthy and important," she says. "What has happened to you in your past does not define you unless you let it, okay?"

I blink. "Okay."

"A Queen will always turn pain into power," she says. "Take it; take your pain, and turn it into art."

* * *

We don't go straight home when we leave the nursing home. Brittany ends up spotting a pond - _and ducks_ \- and we stop at a park just as the sun is setting. We're all still rather emotional after the visit, eyes bloodshot and puffy with flushed faces. Brittany and I look worse, I suspect, but Rachel keeps sniffing and Santana isn't looking at any of us in the eye.

I just hold onto Rachel's hand tightly as we walk. I won't let my grip lessen, but she's not complaining. I'm relieved we came, but I'm certain we could have gone without the sobbing session. If we're crying _now_ ; I shudder to think about what it's going to be like when she's truly gone for forever. It's a truth of which we're all aware. Aunt Marianne doesn't have long to go now - she's ready and waiting, having accepted her time is coming - and this is probably, definitely, the last time we're going to see her.

Rachel wraps her arm around mine, holding it close to her body. "Do you know anyone who's passed away?" she asks me, her voice barely there.

I swallow audibly, my eyes focused on Brittany and Santana walking ahead of us towards the little pond. "I do," I tell her. "My father's mother had breast cancer, and she died when I was four-years-old. I don't remember much about her, but I do know it happened around the same time my father... changed." I bite the inside of my cheek for a moment. "Her - her name was Lucille. I was named after her."

She hums in thought. "Do you think your grandmother's death was a catalyst for your father's behaviour?"

"I've considered the possibility," I confess. "He did start to drink a lot more, I suppose. He didn't handle the grief... at all." I lick my lips. "I don't know if it can be enough to excuse his anger, but I think having something to try to make _sense_ of it all can be helpful."

She hums in agreement.

Then, I say: "When I was seven, Frannie had a best friend in high school. Her name was Alice, and she was always really nice to me. While Frannie found me annoying, Alice had patience for me. She used to listen to me ramble about my stuffed toys and fairytales. I used to call her Alice in Wonderland, and I used to play with her little brother whenever she had to babysit him. Peter was four at the time." I smile slightly at the memories before it fades away. "I was young, so I didn't really understand what was happening at the time. It was - it was Frannie's fifteenth birthday party. It was one of those pool parties, and Alice was... running late." I can feel myself tearing up. "All I remember is my mother stopping the music and starting to send everyone home. Frannie was just as confused as I was, and then she was crying and running into the house and nobody would answer my questions.

"I found out later that my Alice in Wonderland and her mother and her little brother were involved in a car accident, and we lost all three of them." I stare at the ground, and Rachel brings us to a stop. "I understood, but I also didn't, you know? I think, generally, that's the consensus around the concept of death. Even now that I'm older, it makes sense but it also doesn't. It took me a while to realise Alice wasn't coming back, and - " I pause. "Frannie had to go on anti-depressants, and I think they supposed I was too young for that, and I would bounce right back because children are resilient.

"I don't know if I did. I don't know what kind of role Alice's death has played on my life." I shake my head, suddenly disturbed at the thought. I haven't had to think about it in a while, or at all. I might have even pushed it to the furthest recesses of my mind in a vain attempt to get on with my life. "I should probably talk to Dr McMaster about it."

Rachel pulls me into a hug, her arms snaking around my torso. "I'm sorry, Quinn," she whispers into my cardigan, her breath seeping through the tiny holes. "I'm so sorry."

I just hug her back. "You haven't lost anyone, have you?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

"No," she says. "I haven't _had_ many people to lose any of them." Her words are broken, and my heart aches. "For so long, it's just been me, my dads and Aunt Marianne. You know about my Daddy's family, and my Dad's family, while accepting he's gay, they refuse to acknowledge or interact with his husband or daughter. When he visits them - usually only for funerals - he goes alone. I've - I've never lost anyone, Quinn. I don't want to."

I tighten my grip on her, closing my eyes.

"I've known this day has been coming," she says; "but I've been able to ignore it. With school and Glee and you, I've been busy refusing to face it for what it is. She's - she's going to die, and - and there's n-nothing I can do." She's descending into sobs again, and I just hold her.

I hold her _together_.

"I've got you," I whisper into her hair. "It's going to be okay. You'll be okay, Rach. You'll be okay." I don't know how long we stand there, holding each other as I whisper soothing words to her, but Brittany and Santana eventually get our attention. Silently, we make our way back to the car.

Brittany mentions being hungry, so we decide on a quiet diner with a small vegan menu. It's one of the reasons why we need to be living in cities: vegans are better catered to than they are in smaller towns. It's a relief to know Rachel won't have too much of a problem in New York, because I've always worried that she doesn't eat nearly enough protein. I almost laugh at my own thoughts. Never in my life did I think this would be my life: wondering if _Rachel Berry_ is getting all the necessary food groups.

 _Jesus_.

How did I get here?

Rachel looks at me, raising her eyebrows in question at my smile. When all I do is offer her an amused shake of my head, she presses a kiss to my cheek and we return our attention to Brittany and Santana, who are play-fighting with their straws. They're so silly sometimes.

"I'm glad we came," Rachel whispers to me, sliding in closer.

I wrap my arm around her shoulders, hugging her against my side. "Me too," I say, and I've never meant words as much as I mean these ones. Well, and these as well: "I love you."

This time, I get a kiss to my lips, and we both smile. "I love you too, Quinn Fabray."

* * *

Despite my plans to talk to Dr McMaster about Peter and Alice and possibly Grandma Lucille, we rather discuss the decisions I seem to be making about my future. It's a topic I'm growing more comfortable discussing, and I'm far more at ease with my impending departure from Lima than I am talking about... my family. I once brought up Beth by mistake, and the two of us spent the rest of the session in utter awkwardness. It was the first and last time I really mentioned her and, thankfully, Dr McMaster hasn't tried to bring her up again.

The future is a much safer topic for both of us, apparently.

"What do you want? Out of life? What do you want?" Dr McMaster asks, and I can't help my grin.

"That's a loaded question, Doc."

"Start simple," she says easily. "Humour me."

I press my lips together in thought. "Uh, I want to get out of Lima," I say. "Is that simple? It doesn't sound simple."

"But it's something you want?"

"Desperately."

"Then the level of simplicity doesn't matter," she assures me. "What else?"

"I, uh, I want... an absence of mood swings and some stability in my life," I say, shrugging slightly. My smile is sheepish as I continue. "I want to live simply. I want to sit by the window when it rains and read books I'll never be tested on. I want to write because I want to, not because I have something to prove. I want to be able to listen to my body, fall asleep when the moon is high and wake up slowly, with no place to rush off to. I want easy and simple. I want to be happy, and I want Rachel. I just want to _be_ with her."

Her smile is gentle, unassuming, and I just know she's about to impart some wisdom. Between Aunt Marianne, Reverend Jimmy and now Dr McMaster; I don't know how much more I can actually take. My brain and heart have been overloaded with so much sentiment and wisdom that I've actually taken to writing it all down.

"And those are all things you deserve, Quinn," she says. "If you want them, there's nobody in this world who can stop you from getting them."

I quirk an eyebrow. "Isn't that a little dangerous to say?" I ask. "What if I said I wanted to rob a bank?"

She laughs lightly. "Then, I'm a afraid our sessions haven't helped at all."

I shake my head in amusement before the humour fades. "What if I said I just wanted my family to love me?"

Her smile slips from her face in an instant, and the mood sobers dramatically. "I don't know your family," she says, which is a relief to both of us, I'm sure. "I don't know if they just love in a very different way, or if it's something more nefarious than that. But, what I do know is that you should never have to beg for love. You should never have to beg for attention, commitment, affection, time or effort." She pauses, licking her lips. "I _know_ you should never feel unwanted. These things, asking and begging and hoping, it's all demeaning and degrading to the beauty of who you are as a person. If your family can't and won't and doesn't give you all these things, willingly and with open arms, then they're not worth t. They never were, and they never will be, because you are so much more. You are above it all, and my wish is for you to see it too."

There are tears pooling in my eyes but I succeed in stopping them from falling. Instead, I just about manage a smile. "Doc, those are lovely words and all, but you do know I have a girlfriend, right?"

She laughs out loud at that, and we welcome the levity.

Not long after, our session ends, and I make my way down the road to the hospital where I'm supposed to wait for LeRoy to get out of his late afternoon meeting. At first, I thought it would be really difficult not driving myself around Lima, but everyone has been really accommodating about it. I've spoken to Dr McMaster about it, and she's being as patient as everyone else. I've yet to _try_ to drive, and I think I'll hold off until at least the summer. I mean, I haven't even made a decision on _the_ car yet. We've been using it, though. Hiram drives me to see Flo in it, which I think is an attempt to get me used to it. I don't have the heart to tell him it's not working.

While I wait, I do some reading for Psych, finding it a little amusing right after my session with my therapist. Really, I should be able to diagnose myself by now, given the number of times I've gone through this monster of a textbook. It's large enough to make a person's muscles ache, but it blends right in here at the hospital. I look like every other student, possibly even an intern if I keep my head down. In a few years, this could be Santana. As far as I know, she's still on her way to becoming a doctor - maybe even a surgeon, if she decides to go that route - though, she's been expressing interest in a few other things. Frankly, I've always seen her as a lawyer of some sort. She's protective enough to be _very_ good at it. Brittany claims Santana would make a good performer - acting and singing, the works - and Rachel just wants her to do what makes her happy.

Rachel wants that for all of us. She wants _so much_ for the four - six, if you include Kurt and Blaine, which I do - of us. I feel a certain pressure to make sure I don't disappoint her. I mean, I've already decided I want to be involved with literature and writing, so that's a step. A step I'm apprehensive about, but still a step.

"Quinn?"

I snap my head up to see LeRoy smiling at me, knowingly and amusedly. "Hey," I say, closing my textbook and placing it in my bag. "Are you ready to go?"

He nods as he puts out his hand to help be stand. "I just have to pick up some files from Stacey at the nurses' station, and then we're good to go."

I return his nod and follow. I've spent years _getting used_ to hospitals, so nothing I _see_ particularly bothers me in the oh-my-God-that's-blood way - unless it's in my mouth - but my chest does tighten whenever I think of all the _hurt_ in the world. Sure, majority is uncontrollable and probably the result of accidents, but it still gives me pause. People get hurt all the time, whether they deserve it or not and they have no control over it, whether they're good or bad.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

I suck in a deep breath, my eyes blinking rapidly.

Oh.

I... get it now.

Sort of.

The realisation is staggering, but I school my features so as not to give anything away.

I just - things _happen_ , whether we like them to, and whether we deserve them or not. The good and the bad, the great and the ugly. Everything has its reason, sure, and we can pick apart every little thing, but it changes nothing. I get it now, and all it took was a casual stroll through the Emergency Room for that to happen. It makes me think we can all see ourselves better when we can see ourselves in someone else. With those thoughts in my head, I feel both lighter and heavier at the same time, and there's a part of me that can't wait to tell Rachel that I might understand.

Just because I deserve the good things doesn't mean I also deserve the bad.

* * *

When LeRoy and I get home, I rush upstairs to find Rachel sitting against the headboard of her bed, with one of my notebooks propped up in her lap. It looks as if _she's_ been crying, and I don't even want to ask which part she's been reading. Now that we're living in the same house, she hasn't had all that much time to read because she refuses to read my words in front of me. It's cute how adamant about it she can be.

"Hey," I say, getting her attention as I enter the room and close the door behind me.

"Hey," she returns, closing the notebook and rising to her knees. She shuffles across the bed to its edge, and gestures for me to meet her.

I waste no time crossing the carpet, and I get pulled into a hug that settles every part of me: raging emotions and tense muscles and profound epiphanies.

"How are you feeling?" she asks quietly, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck as she holds our bodies close together. It's a loaded question and we both know it. It's not the kind of question I can respond to with 'Fine.' It deserves more, and I'm going to give it to her.

"Safe," I whisper into her hair. "When I'm with you, I feel so safe. Like, the rest of the world can't hurt me, because I have you, and I feel - " my voice catches and I suck in a breath. "You're my home, Rachel. This, right here, with you, it's where I belong."

Her fingers trace lines along my shoulder blades, but she remains silent.

"I know I make things difficult," I say. "I'm working on it, but I want to be with nobody else but you." I kiss the skin of her neck. "I know my love isn't perfect," I say; "but I'll never give up on myself, or you, or _us_. I promise to treat you as if I'm still trying to win your affection."

She pulls back to look at my face. "So, you had a good session then?" she asks with a slight smirk.

I can't help my giggle. "Hmm, something like that, yeah."

She raises her eyebrows. "Something happened," she says, eyeing me carefully. "Did you have an epiphany?"

"Something like that," I repeat.

"Quinn," she whines.

I smile at her petulance. "I just realised something, that's all," I finally tell her. "Things _happen_ , sometimes whether we deserve them or not. Bad things happen to good people, and good things happen to bad people. There are reasons, I'm sure, but the reasons have never been important." I pull back slightly, so I can look at her perfect face. "Only the fact that there _is_ a reason is important."

She looks at me for the longest time, her eyes searching my face for something, anything. "You're going to be okay, aren't you?"

I laugh lightly. "It's surprising, isn't it?"

She presses her lips together. "No, not surprising," she admits. "I'm proud of you, Quinn. You've come so far, and I love being able to watch you grow and get better and learn to love yourself as much as I love you."

"Oh, now you're setting impossible goals for me," I tease, and I'm rewarded with a bruising kiss.

And, well, the rewards just keep on coming.

After dinner, Rachel disappears upstairs while Hiram and I do the dishes. We idly chat about the upcoming King Lear production they're putting on at the community theatre, and he mentions that he's going to try to get us tickets even though we both know the production is likely to be horrific in every way. We're just finishing up when Rachel comes to fetch me, slipping her hand into mine and leading the way upstairs to her bedroom. I have _so many_ questions but I don't ask them. All I can really do is watch and wait.

Once we're locked behind her door, she ties a scarf around my head, temporarily blinding me.

Okay.

Slowly - so painstakingly slowly, she undresses me. Fully. Completely. I mean, I know I _should_ panic, but there is _no way_ we're about to do anything particularly salacious with her fathers just downstairs. We haven't even had a proper discussion about... that.

She takes my hand again and leads me... into the bathroom. "Don't move," she whispers, gently kissing my cheek.

I hear things.

She's undressing, and her clothes hit the floor.

Then, I hear... nothing.

"You can look now."

As eager as I am, I'm careful as I remove my blindfold to reveal what I can describe as the most glorious sight in all of existence. We're definitely in her bathroom, and Rachel Berry is _naked_ in her bathtub, looking at me with a mixture of nerves and expectation. I smile automatically. She's drawn us a bath, with bubbles and candles and everything.

"Are you going to join me?" she asks softly, her voice quivering ever so slightly.

I immediately move forward, my heart suddenly thundering against my ribcage. "Where do you want me?" I ask, a little unsure.

"Right here," she answers, patting her chest.

I take a breath and then place one foot into the water. Then the other. My movements are slow, and I can _see_ her eyes linger on my skin as it disappears into the water. She spreads her legs and I settle between them, her front pressed against my back. Her arms wrap around my body and I feel her hands slide over my abdomen.

"This is... unexpected," I tell her, relaxing into her body.

"But... it's okay, right?"

"It's perfect."

"Oh, okay," she breathes. "I was worried."

"Why?"

Her fingertips dance over my skin. "I just worry sometimes. You always take us on these dates and do all these wonderful things for me, and I - "

"Rachel," I chastise kindly. "I love you and all you do for me."

She's silent for a beat before she asks the most alarming question. "So, you're not - you're not disappointed?"

I frown. "What?"

"Umm."

"Rachel, no," I say. "Of course, not."

"Are you sure?"

"This is definitely what I need," I say, resting the back of my head against her shoulder. "I didn't even realise it until now."

"Okay."

I hear _something_ in her voice, but I can't quite figure out what it is. Why would she think I would _ever_ be disappointed by something as wonderful as this? I reason she might have read something in the notebooks, possibly about Finn and his lack of _gestures_. Whatever the reasons, I don't know, so I just start talking. I have words to say, apparently. "I fell in love with you because you're not like anyone else in this world, and you've never tried to be," I tell her quietly, practically whispering. "Don't think for one second that you'll ever disappoint me, Berry. I will love you no matter what."

She kisses my cheek, her lips lingering. "I've always been someone who looks _too deep_ into something or someone," she says; "because I realised from a young age that there's always more than what meets the eye. That's the truth with you, Quinn Fabray, and I am so glad I'm both stubborn and nosy, persistent and annoying and sometimes insufferable."

My brow furrows. "Rachel Berry, please never use those words to describe yourself ever again, okay?"

Silence.

"Rachel Barbra."

"Lucy Quinn."

I sigh. There are so many words I want to say; so many words she needs to hear. Years of torment have created this person who carries and accepts that people will think negatively about who she is as a person. I'm to blame, for some of it. All of it. I have to be the one to make sure she knows how wonderful and special she is, so I do.

"You are many things, Rachel, but you are not insufferable or annoying," I say. "Sure, you're stubborn and persistent, but I doubt you'd get anywhere in life if you weren't. You're fiery and ambitious and driven and you _believe_ in life and love and the goodness in people, and you are pure perfection. You've - you've changed me. You've made me better, and people who don't recognise how spectacular you are, they don't matter. For so long, _I_ didn't matter, but I've wised up, and your forgiving heart is the only reason I get to love and be loved by you.

"I genuinely enjoy just being with you," I say; "even if we're just sitting around and talking about nothing. There are a million and one things I absolutely adore about you, like your nose and the way you smile, the way you look me in the eye, too. It fills me with the greatest feeling when I make you laugh. It's as if my company actually makes you happy, and that's what I wish for you. For you to be happy, in life and in love. And, whenever I see you laugh at my nerdy ways, it just makes me want to spend the rest of my life with you, so I can see that smile on your face every day.

"Also, I really do like it when you ramble and rant and vent to me," I add. "I don't feel as if it annoys me. I can honestly tell you I would drop everything and push things out of the way, just to listen to you, because I love the sound of your voice, Rachel, and - " I pause, nibbling at my bottom lip for a moment. "Because I know how it feels when you have so much bottled up inside of you. Because I know how it feels to be at that point where you can't stand it anymore, and you just need to let things out. I promise I'm always going to listen to you."

She sniffles behind me, and I turn my head and body to look at her.

"Baby, please don't cry."

She lets out a soft snort through her tears, shaking her head. "I love you so much, Quinn," she says. "I don't - I can't - "

I smile at her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. "Do you know why I think we're going to be together for forever?"

Her eyes are shining with unshed tears. "Why?"

I cock my head to the side, my gaze meeting hers. "Call me old-fashioned, but I believe marriage should be between a person who hates pickles and a person who will eat that pickle."

Rachel waits a beat before she bursts out laughing, and I mentally pat myself on the back. "Oh, baby," she says, kissing the corner of my mouth. "I promise always to eat your pickle."

I shake my head, pouting slightly. "Well, now, it just sounds dirty."

She raises her eyebrows suggestively. "I'll do that too."

My smile drops immediately. "Oh, _Rachel Berry_."

She giggles softly, shifting slightly, her bare legs sliding against my own. "I've changed you, huh?" she asks softly, but I can tell it's rhetorical. "You've changed me too, Quinn. I think we've changed each other, but in all the best ways. It's been the change we needed and wanted. It's the change we both deserve, and it's all I've ever really wanted, you know? To leave a positive impact on everyone I meet. Whether it be a smile, a laugh or a - " she pauses, her fingers sliding along my chest and her hand coming to rest over my sternum. "A changed heart."

"Changed for the better, I hope," I say. I mean it as a joke, but we both take it seriously.

"Of course," she says. "Always for the better, Fabray."

I swallow audibly.

"I'll remind you every day," she says, pressing her lips to my pulse point. "Say the word, Quinn. Any time your mind decides to play tricks on you, I will remind you that you are wonderful and perfect and I love you more than I thought possible. You matter, baby. You are important, and you are loved. Your presence on this earth makes a difference, whether you see it or not. I promise, Quinn, any time you need to hear the words, I'll say them." She kisses my skin, her breath warm and soothing.

She is everything I've ever wanted.

"I'll tell you every single day of the rest of our lives."


	44. forty-four

**Chapter Forty-Four**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _if the ocean can calm itself, so can you.  
_ _we are both salt water mixed with air._

 _._

Quinn doesn't have to convince me that meeting Reverend Jimmy will probably go remarkably better than any dinner with her mother would have. I already _know_ that, but I can't help feeling nervous and anxious and... terrified. That's it. I'm off-the-charts afraid of meeting the one man Quinn seems to hold in such high regard. Sure, she has wonderful and different relationships with my dads, but this is the man - of God - who is accepting of her and her relationship with me. If that isn't enough to give me a panic attack, I don't know what is.

She's... trying to ease my panic.

When she's not laughing at me, at least.

Okay, that's too harsh. She's not actually laughing, but she does find it amusing, and that little upturn at the edges of her mouth just gives her away. Her eyes are also full of mirth, and it's completely obvious that she's excited about this dinner.

Which makes one and only one of us.

Well, I suspect Reverend Jimmy has positive feelings towards the upcoming evening as well, but all I feel is apprehension. What if he doesn't like me? What if the _man of God_ decides I'm not good enough to be with Quinn? I don't even know what to say or do to quell my anxiety about it, and Quinn isn't helping. And, when I tell her that, she gives me the softest, most genuine look I've ever seen and reaches out for me.

I step into her embrace immediately, seeking comfort from the warmth and strength of her body. "I don't even know what to wear," I whisper into her blouse.

Her body vibrates as she chuckles. "Do you want me to pick out something for you?"

"Please."

She releases me slowly, pressing a gentle kiss to my hairline. "Come with me," she says, taking hold of my hands and backing herself into my closet. She spends a few minutes studying my various articles of clothing, humming to herself and eyeing my form every few moments. Eventually, finally, she decides on a yellow, knee-length dress with white ballet flats and a denim jacket. It's almost what she would wear, and she grins when I point it out to her. "I like it when you wear yellow."

"Why?"

"I don't know," she says. "It's like your outsides match your insides."

I shake my head. "And you say you want to be a writer."

"Hey!"

I giggle softly, gently patting the top of her head. "Okay, okay, go get ready or we're going to be late."

Quinn kisses me chastely, and then rushes out of the closet. I follow a beat later, and the significance isn't lost on me. It actually makes me chuckle, particularly when I think about how many times she's actually led to out of a closet... even before we became a couple. For some reason, I just know that, when we do come out, it'll be together, and Quinn's hand will securely be in mine as she leads us through whatever that revelation brings us.

It's overwhelming how much is still to come for both of us.

While I get ready in my bedroom, Quinn hops across the corridor to get ready in her own. There are times I hate that we're not living _together_ , but now isn't one of them. My dads were right when they suggested we have our own spaces. I think, if ever I do end up living with Quinn, it'd have to be in a new place that could be _ours_ , having never been just mine or just hers before. Like, a fresh start for us both or something like that. Just the thought of one day living with only her makes me feel _everything_ all at once, and it's both frightening and exciting.

I'm still curling my hair when Quinn reveals herself once more, knocking lightly on my door and sticking head into my bedroom. "Hey, you," she says. "Almost ready?"

"Five more minutes."

"I'll be downstairs," she says, flashing me a smile. "And, _please_ actually take five minutes because I really don't want to come back up here to get you."

I giggle. "I hear you, Fabray."

"I love you," she quips happily, and then disappears, closing the door behind her and leaving me to finish up. I take eight minutes instead of five, but Quinn doesn't say anything when I get downstairs to find her engaged in conversation with my Dad in the kitchen. She's sitting at the breakfast nook while he's dicing a pineapple.

"I'm ready," I declare, and Quinn grins at me.

"Let's get going," she says, hopping off her stool, stealing a piece of pineapple and then reaching for my hand. With her other hand, she retrieves a container from the counter top and, after a quick farewell to my Dad, we're on our way. It's not a date because it would be weird to consider dinner with Quinn's Reverend a date. Goodness Gracious. Quinn directs me as I drive through our Lima suburbs towards Reverend Jimmy's house, which is not at all what I'm expecting. It's a small, free-standing house on a quiet street that's not too far from where I know the church is.

"He walks everywhere," Quinn informs me when we pull into an empty driveway. "He says it's helped keep him... grounded."

I just nod my understanding, turning off the car and forcing myself to breathe steadily.

Quinn reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "There's nothing to worry about, Rachel Berry," she assures me. "He just wants to know you. I mean, I talk about you _all_ the time, so it kind of makes sense."

My eyes widen. "All the time?"

"All the time," she confirms.

I suck in a deep breath. "You're _really_ not helping," I inform her.

She giggles softly before she leans over and kisses my cheek. "You're going to be fine. We're safe here." And that's all she says before she gets out of the car with her container and waits. I know she's giving me a moment, refusing to rush me, and I'm immensely grateful for it. I focus on my breathing for a full minute, calm my mind and beating heart, and then meet her outside. As casually as possible, her hand slips into mine, and then we're heading to the front door.

Of course, it opens before Quinn can even press the doorbell, and we're met by an elderly man with a knowing smile on his face. I panic when his eyes glance down at our clasped hands, but Quinn just holds tighter when I try to pull away.

"Come in," Revered Jimmy says.

Quinn immediately steps inside, pulling me in behind her. "This is for dessert," she tells him, handing over the container.

His eyes practically light up. "Red velvet?"

"Of course."

His smile is almost child-like as he takes the container from her and closes the door behind us. He glances at me. "She's a keeper, isn't she?"

All I can do is nod.

Quinn squeezes my hand again, and I let out a breath. "Rachel, this is Revered Jimmy," she says. "Rev J, this is Rachel - " she pauses for a moment " - my girlfriend."

I automatically blush, Quinn shrugs somewhat smugly and Reverend Jimmy grins at us. I can practically feel the awkwardness and tension melting away, and then they fall away completely when he speaks.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Rachel," he says, his voice kind. "Quinn has told me so many wonderful things about you, I was starting to think she made you up."

"Hey," Quinn complains.

He turns to look at her. "You were right, though," he says, offering her the kind of warm look a person can _feel_. "She really is beautiful."

And... I'm blushing again.

When I manage to pull it together to return his greeting, he leads us into the kitchen where he's laid out a selection of takeout. Quinn practically cackles at the sight of it, and I can't help my smile either.

He just shrugs, not even a little embarrassed. "I can't cook," he declares, shooting me a smile, and his greying eyebrows practically dance. "If I don't subject my own body to my cooking; why would I ever do that to you too?"

"Because you're a sadist," Quinn offers, and he just shakes his head, looking amused.

He looks at me. "So, Quinn told me you're a vegan, so I managed to get vegan pho for you from my favourite Vietnamese restaurant. I hope that's all right."

"That's perfect," I assure him.

Quinn rolls her eyes when he makes a fist in victory. "Yes, yes, we'll be sure to get you a medal," she drawls, and they share a laugh.

It's so... weird, but also not. I _know_ people are different behind closed doors - take Santana and Quinn for instance - but even _I_ have never seen my girlfriend act... like a kid. She's open here, with him, as if she's just having a meal with family. It's obvious that's how she sees him, and he seems to feel the same way. Even though he's probably just a few years younger than my dads; the two of them act more like siblings.

Well, that is until we start talking about serious things. I feel the shift in the air as the way they approach each other changes. They're no longer siblings, but they're less than parishioner and priest. It's automatic the way I straighten my back and pay attention, momentarily abandoning my delicious broth. We're sitting at the kitchen table, Quinn opposite me, and Reverend Jimmy at its head. Sometimes, Quinn's foot touches mine, just for reassurance, and it's doing it now.

I exhale slowly.

"Do you follow a religion?" he asks me, his tone of voice curious and warm.

I blink a few times, wondering how I'm going to answer this. I don't follow any religion exactly, but there are aspects of my life that see me following a _culture_. My family usually just follows the best parts of religions, if I'm being truthful. "I think I consider myself an omniest," I finally say, carefully. "I don't claim any one religion, practice or belief, but I find truth in them all." I take a breath, risking a look at Reverend Jimmy. "But, if my dads are around, I'm definitely Jewish."

He lets out a boisterous laugh, and we all seem to settle. "I like her," he says to Quinn.

"I like her too," Quinn says with a slight shrug, adding significant pressure to where our feet are touching. I'm well aware I've been a bit tense, but I do manage to smile at her. This evening is already going far better than I ever thought it would, and Reverend Jimmy is really quite lovely.

"The reason I ask," he says; "is that mixed relationships like these tend to get messy when it comes to practicing religion."

It amazes me that he's more focused on our beliefs than the fact that we're both of the female variety.

Quinn glances at me. "We've never tried to change that about each other," she says. "Rachel respects that I'm an active Christian, and I - " she hesitates. "Uh, well, I mean, I _did_ buy you a Christmas slash Hanukkah present."

I smile at her. "Even though I told you not to."

She shrugs. "Tell me you don't love it."

I press my lips together, saying nothing.

Reverend Jimmy is wearing his knowing smile again, which gives way to a rather pensive look. "It's obvious you two have something special," he says. "I imagine you wouldn't be willing to go through whatever this world will throw at you because you're together, just for nothing."

Quinn and I both nod in agreement.

"Does that then include marriage and children?"

We both nod again.

"I know it's in the _very_ distant future," he says, giving us a significant look that makes us both smile; "but something to consider is the religion you may or may not raise your kids in."

I feel my breath catch in my throat and I'm not entirely sure why. I haven't really given anything like that a single thought, so Quinn and I definitely haven't talked about it. I mean, we're only eighteen. We have so much life to get to before we even _start_ considering the options two women have for introducing little human beings into this world.

Before either of us can respond, he moves us on to the future and New York and New Haven. I try to pay attention when he mentions the possibility of purchasing train tickets to last an entire year, which would make visiting each other much easier, but my mind is a little lost.

Quinn taps her foot with mine, snapping me to attention, and I return to the conversation, quickly finishing my dinner.

For dessert, we have tea and cake in the living room while Reverend Jimmy entertains us with stories from his own youth and from his adventures teaching Sunday School. Before Beth, Quinn used to teach on Sundays too, but I imagine the parents don't want such a _sinner_ anywhere near their children now. They're missing out, obviously, because Quinn is a wonderfully gifted teacher. My Math marks have drastically improved since she started _tutoring_ me. Really, I think I just want to impress her.

When it's late enough for us to leave, Reverend Jimmy hugs us both, whispering assurances and well wishes.

"Good luck with this one," he tells me. "She's a handful."

"She is," I agree, but my smile must give away my affection because Quinn doesn't complain. She just slips her hand into mine once more and we take out leave, waving to the Reverend one last time. He stands and watches as I back us out of his driveway and start us on our way home. It's only when we've turned out of his street that Quinn speaks.

"I love you, you know," she says. "And that wasn't as bad as you thought it would be, was it?"

"He's a lovely man," I tell her.

Quinn looks at me, her head resting against her seat. "Do you ever wonder about life sometimes?"

"What do you mean?"

"When we first moved here, I used to imagine how different my life would have been if he were my father instead of Russell," she says softly, almost as if it's a secret. "He joined the church late in life, you know. He used to be married with a daughter, but - " she stops, biting her bottom lip. "He - he lost them in a car accident and he turned to God instead of away from Him, and he's never looked back since."

"God, that's awful," I say, unable to imagine how difficult that must have been for him.

"He says he found his strength in his faith," she continues. "I mean, we can always torture ourselves by asking _why_ and _what if_ and what we could have differently, but accepting that what's happened was always meant to happen is a step towards healing. I think about that a lot whenever I think about Beth. Whenever I second-guess my decisions, I'm forced to remember I did the right thing and I was always _meant_ to make the decision I did."

She talks about Beth so rarely that I find these are the moments I really have to pay attention.

"She was always meant to exist, and she was always meant to have the parents she does. She was meant for them even though she came from me. It's just such an _intricate_ plan, Rachel, and we can't know anything about the future... just that it's going to happen and we're going to have to do the best we can. It's all we can really hope for, which is where faith comes into play."

Her words are both light and heavy, and I don't know what it is but I am _so_ in love with her in this moment.

When we get home, neither of us makes a move to get out of the car. Quinn just reaches for my hand and intertwines our fingers. I feel as if something's happened tonight but I can't be sure _what_ exactly. All I know is it's big and important and _invisible_ , still existing somewhere in the space between us.

"Lucy Quinn?" I whisper.

"Rachel Barbra."

"I'm going to marry you one day."

She chuckles lightly. "I hope you're not just saying that to get in my pants."

I shake my head at her antics. She's such an idiot sometimes. "No, baby," I assure her, my tone heavy with meaning. "I mean it. I can't wait until you are officially part of my family."

Quinn looks away at the sound of that and she gently wipes at her cheeks with her free hand. "We should go inside," she eventually says, but, again, neither of makes a move. There's just something about this moment that shouldn't end.

"He brought up a very interesting point, Quinn," I say, my thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand. "When we have children, in what religion would we raise them?"

She can't seem to help her grin at the phrasing of the question, and I force myself to maintain eye contact. _When_ we have children. "We don't have to raise them in any religion," she tells me, and it sounds as if she's already given this quite a bit of thought. "We can expose them to Christianity and Judaism... and Buddhism and even Wicca, for all I care. I think I'd want them to be able to decide what they want to believe. A lot of my own religion was forced down my throat from such a young age, and I hated it as a child." She presses her lips together. "Is it naive to want them just to believe in _something_? Just, to have faith in something bigger than themselves?"

"No, baby, it's not," I whisper.

"I don't know how I would have ever survived this life without acknowledging that there was something _more_ than me," she says quietly, practically whispering. "There _has_ to be, Rach, because I just can't fathom that someone like you could exist in a world where there is no Higher Being."

I blush furiously, and duck my head to hide my face. "Why are you so perfect?" I mumble, shaking my head as I finally look at her again.

"Don't call me that," she says, frowning.

"What?"

"Perfect," she says. "I'm not perfect, Rachel, and that kind of lie is not complimentary."

I just stare at her for the longest time, accepting her words for what they are. "Okay," I say on an exhale. "Seeing as I can't call you perfect; can I call you an erratic, damaged, insecure and gloriously beautiful mess instead?"

She lets out an amused breath. "As long as you love me despite it."

"Of course, Quinn Fabray," I assure her. "I will always love you."

* * *

"I need to talk to you about something."

As much as I hate using those words - particularly on Quinn - they are completely necessary. She stiffens, of course, but her eyes don't waver, and they hold onto my gaze with no hesitation. The confident, unassuming, HBIC is well on her way back and, as relieved as I am, the mere idea of her thrusting herself back into that world gives me increased anxiety. I really need to find a way to deal with all of it because my own journalling has done very little in the way of my dealing with this particular issue.

"It's about cheerleading," I say, and her eyebrows rise. We're standing in the kitchen, and it's just the two of us for dinner tonight. My Dad is at a faculty function and my Daddy managed to scrub in on a surgery that's running late. As expected, Quinn is handling most of the food preparation, and I'm just here for moral support and to admire the beauty that is my girlfriend.

Well, right now, I'm just here to discuss something of the utmost importance.

"I don't want you to rejoin the squad," I blurt out, and her movements still immediately, her gaze snapping towards me. "Yet, I mean," I add after a beat. " _Yet_."

Breathing a sigh, Quinn sets down her chopping knife and steps around the breakfast nook to stand right in front of me. She turns me on my stool, spreads my legs and steps into the space. "I've been waiting for you to say something about this, so why don't you tell me what's really worrying you?" she asks softly, resting her palms on the tops of my thighs.

"I don't think you're ready to join the squad yet," I say.

She arches an eyebrow, her lips in a thin line. "Are you sure you're referring to _me_ when you say that?" she asks.

"What?"

"I don't think this has anything to do with me, Rachel," she says calmly, surely. "We're not discussing _my_ readiness, are we?"

I stare at her for the longest time. " _Quinn_ ," I whisper, my voice sounding strangled.

"I know you're worried," she says softly, her hands cupping my cheeks and making me meet her gaze. "I'm worried too, you know? There's this mismatch between what my mind _wants_ to do and what my body is physically capable of, and vice versa." She sighs heavily. "Look, if the doctors believe I'm ready, then I must be. I've been working tirelessly with Chris to test my limits, and I _know_ them, Rach. I promise I won't do anything stupid and push too far, okay? Does that help?"

My eyes narrow. "I know _you_ , so, no, that really doesn't help at all."

She chuckles lightly. "Besides not _not_ rejoining the squad, what can I do to help ease your worries?"

"If those are the conditions; I don't think there's anything you _can_ do," I admit.

Quinn sighs heavily, her brow furrowing. "I don't know what it's like to be you in this scenario, Rachel," she says. "I have my own worries, as do you, and I'm the only one capable of alleviating them all. I just - I don't know how I'm supposed to do that, so I need you to meet me halfway here. What can I do?"

I close my eyes for a moment, thinking.

"What if I told you I'll take a break every half an hour?" she offers, sounding equal parts hopeful and helpless. Her voice takes on an almost whiny quality and I really shouldn't find it at all adorable, but I do. "I'll make sure to stay hydrated to the point of discomfort, and I'll eat plenty of protein bars," she continues. "I'll even wear a hat and layer myself in sunscreen and do everything I can to keep myself cool." She gently kisses my cheek. "I'll do anything to make this easier for you, but I can't _not_ be an active member of my squad. There isn't much time to go until Nationals and, even though we've already decided on our routine; we have to perfect it. I can't just sit on the sidelines anymore. It's driving me crazy."

I have so many arguments. I've even made an entire list of reasons why this is a bad idea, but nothing leaves my mouth. Cheerleading is to Quinn what Glee is to me, and thinking about it that way is the only way I can wrap my head around her desire to return to her squad as soon as possible. If I put myself in her place; I can understand it.

Doesn't mean I have to like it, though.

"Okay," I grumble.

Her eyebrows rise. "Okay to what?"

"All of it," I say. " _And_ , I want a text during your breaks."

She chuckles lightly, kissing my other cheek. "Rachel, you _do_ know Sylvester would have my head if I even _thought_ about looking at my phone during practice, right?"

"I don't care," I say, fully aware I sound like a petulant child.

"Oh, baby, I love you," she murmurs, kissing my lips this time. It's a slow, gentle kiss that has become our bread and butter ever since she permanently moved in. It makes me feel as if we've reached this level of domestic bliss, where Quinn is at home in my kitchen, lazy with her smiles and kisses, and completely mine.

"I love you, too," I automatically return, sliding my hands around her waist and drawing her closer against my body. It's not lost on me in this moment that we _are_ alone in the house and, as willing as I am to do _alone_ things with Quinn Fabray, there's a bit of a disjoint between our physical and emotional bliss.

Quinn must sense it too because, after a handful of kisses, she removes herself from my loose embrace and resumes dinner preparations. I just shift in my seat, cross one leg over the other and watch her work. Which, in hindsight, doesn't help with my arousal at all. I find the movement of the muscles in her forearms to be the most mesmerising thing on the planet, and I stare unabashedly, licking my lips and my eyes darkening.

Tonight isn't _the_ night.

It's just _a_ night, which is the main reason we eat slowly, and then make out on the living room couch until my dads get home.

* * *

The day Quinn receives clearance on her shoulder, I go to the Lima Bean with Kurt after Glee. I'm not sure how I'm just supposed to handle the idea of Quinn possibly returning to full physical activity without constantly worrying or having a panic attack. She keeps having to assure me she's going to take it easy; that her physical therapist has tailored her training program to have her back to doing backflips and flying by the time Nationals roll around. It's still weeks away but I'm already and painfully stressing about it.

I'm also stressed about the show choir Nationals, which we've barely started preparations for. Then there's my NYADA audition. So far, I've filtered my choices down to three possible songs, two modern monologues and three classical monologues. Quinn and my dads promised to listen to them all and help me decide, so I've scheduled that for this coming Friday evening.

If I survive until then, that is.

The stress of the mere idea of Quinn doing anything physical - except, possibly, _me_ \- right now is making me restless and unusually snappy. I actually think Quinn made sure to ask Kurt to take me out because I clearly need to talk to somebody. My Daddy is as anxious as I am, and my Dad just wants Quinn to be happy, even if it hurts her. I know I would be able to talk to them about all of this, but I don't think I _can_. It's not that I think they won't understand - they definitely will - but I'm not sure how to put into words whatever I'm feeling. I absently make a mental note to make an appointment with my therapist.

"I didn't know you had a nervous tick."

I raise my gaze from my cup and look at Kurt's face. "Hmm?"

"Your leg, Rachel," he says; "it bounces when you're nervous."

I blink. "I wouldn't call what I'm feeling 'nervous,'" I say, sighing heavily. "It's - it's something else. It's _everything_ else." I take a sip of my drink. "Worried. Anxious. Angry. Apprehensive. Panicked. Concerned. Conflicted. Proud. Relieved. Stressed." I take a deep breath. "I'm flustered and unsettled and I'm losing sleep, Kurt. I don't think I could handle getting another phone call from Santana telling me she's in the hospital again, or she's passed out somewhere."

Kurt's eyes are wide. "Jesus, Rachel, did you swallow a thesaurus or something?"

Despite my mood, I smile. "I write my feelings in a dream journal. I use it to make sense of things. It's kind of how I came to the conclusion I liked Quinn in the first place, after I pretty much suffered an emotional break over how she's always made me feel."

Kurt smiles knowingly. "So, you've already worked through all of this?"

"I tried," I admit. "I mean, Quinn and I spent all of Sunday evening discussing it, but it really didn't help. She's been texting me assurances all day, but I can't help feeling the way I do. She _understands_ that, and I love that she's trying so hard to settle my anxiety. It's just that..." I trail off.

"It's not working," he finishes.

"No, it's really not." I huff, annoyed at my own worries. "It's not as if I _like_ worrying, you know? That's what Santana's been teasing me about, even though she's just as worried as I am." I smile to myself. "Maybe, I guess, she's handling it better because she's not desperately in love with a magnet for injury, _and_ she gets to monitor her during Cheerios practice."

Kurt nods thoughtfully. "Well, look at it this way," he offers; "at least there _is_ someone keeping an eye on her. You _know_ Santana won't let her do anything stupid."

I can't help thinking back to Quinn's nights of alcohol and cigarettes at Santana's house. Nights like that haven't occurred in a while, but I'm not holding my breath. Quinn's been in therapy and she seems to have a handle on things, but life keeps happening and not all of it is sunshine and roses. I swear, though, that I will personally castrate the both of them if there are cigarettes involved ever again. Quinn Fabray did not just go through _two_ collapsed lungs just to _smoke_. Gosh, just the thought of it makes me rage, and I swear I will slap her silly.

Kurt sips at his coffee, and it's clear there are things he wants to say.

"Are you okay?" I ask him, giving him the opening for which he won't ask. Maybe we both need the distraction. _I_ definitely do.

"That's a loaded question, Rachel," he quips, closing his eyes for a moment. "If you're referring to my relationship with Blaine, I'm going to have to say no, I'm not okay. _We're_ not okay at all." He sighs. "I suppose, with everything that's happened recently, we've been able to forget - temporarily - about all the other stuff. It's both a blessing and a curse because now it's just awkward and painful and it really shouldn't be this hard, should it?"

"Relationships require work," I say unhelpfully. "You just have to want it enough."

Kurt bites his bottom lip, visibly thinking. "And, if I don't?"

I breathe out slowly, trying not to react to the blasphemy he's spewing. "Talk to me, Kurt."

Slowly, his gaze meets mine. "We're leaving in a few months," he says. "If we're struggling _now_ because of some insignificant thing Blaine thinks happened between Dave and me; how can we expect to survive when I'm in New York? It's obvious he doesn't trust me, and it's only going to get worse when we're living in separate states."

I'm not entirely sure what to say to him. Just like Quinn and me, Kurt and Blaine are going to be separated next year. I have my own worries about that and I wouldn't want to compound Kurt's own apprehension about the future by voicing my thoughts on long-distance relationships... between teenagers. I think I've been handling it... well, but I can feel the anxiety building. Quinn and I are in a serious relationship, sure, but we've only officially been together since January. Kurt and Blaine have been together for much longer and, if they're already struggling, what hope do Quinn and I have?

"Also," Kurt says; "he may have mentioned that he's convinced I entertained Dave's advances as much as I did - which wasn't at all, mind you - because I was retaliating for his, umm, chats with Sebastian."

My mouth drops open. "What?"

Kurt blinks rapidly, tears pooling in his eyes. "Do you think he's right?"

"No," I say. "Kurt, you were sympathetic towards Dave because you have this amazing compassion within you that you're willing to offer your _bully_ forgiveness and understanding despite everything he put you through. You're gay, and you've struggled. We all have, and you did nothing wrong, okay? You told Dave _no_ , and you made it clear to him. That's all Blaine could have ever asked of you."

He sighs. "It's not enough."

I don't know what to say to that, and I tell him.

"I wouldn't know either," he confesses.

"Are you saying you _want_ to break up?"

"I don't want to," he says; "but I think we're going to have to. Maybe just for the year, you know, and then we can reevaluate everything when he gets to New York." He seems to ponder his own words. "Sometimes, I get the feeling he expects me to _wait_ for him. _Here_."

Again, I have no answers for him. Seriously, I'm severely lacking in the best friend department here.

"Would you wait for Quinn?" he suddenly asks, and the question catches me off guard. "If you were graduating first, and everything was just reaching a head; would you put your future on hold so you two could conquer the world together?"

I've never really thought about it. Even though Quinn and I are born in different years, we fall under the same academic year. We're graduating together, and I've never had to consider anything else. We're both getting out of Lima, at the same time, and that means everything right now. "I want to say I would," I eventually answer his question. "I'm sure I would consider it, but I just know Quinn wouldn't let me. She'd send me on my way herself, if she had to."

He nods in understanding, turning over my words in his head.

"I think these kinds of situations are breeding grounds for resentment, Kurt," I say, fighting off a shudder. I have half a mind to text Quinn just to reassure myself that the two of us are okay. Sure, we're not particularly seeing eye-to-eye about this return-to-active-Head-Cheerio thing, but we're still very much together and in love, and I quietly vow to myself that I'll do everything I can to ensure we remain this way. "Right now, whatever decisions you make, stay or go, _someone_ is going to feel something negative."

Kurt sighs tiredly. It's clear he knows all of this already. "What do you suggest I do, Rachel?"

I blink once, twice, before I speak. "Frankly, I don't think I'm the right person for this," I confess. "I'm too invested in certain scenarios playing out to be the impartial voice of reason you need right now. I don't know how to help you. Either of you."

"I don't know either," he admits, gently scrubbing his face in his own frustration. "Do you think we're too young for couples' therapy?"

It's meant to be a joke but I answer him seriously. "I don't think you're ever too young to ask for help, Kurt."

He nods slowly, looking forlorn.

"I think you should talk to Quinn," I practically blurt out.

Kurt frowns. "Is there... a specific reason I should be speaking to Quinn?"

I nod. "She's rather worldly," I explain. "And she's pretty well-versed in making decisions for herself these days. I honestly think she could help; especially because she's wholly unafraid of just saying it like it is. It's probably, definitely, part of her charm to be utterly blunt and completely honest."

"I wouldn't call it charm," Kurt interjects, and I shoot him such a glare that he physically recoils. "Okay..." he says nervously. "It is charm, I suppose." He's never seen a protective, mother-hen Rachel Berry before, and I think I'm displaying the kind of fierceness that makes Kurt realise just how serious thing thing is with Quinn. We're not just wasting each other's time here, and two people don't go through everything we've been going through just for a fling.

We're building our future together.

"Yes, it is," I agree unnecessarily, and he just rolls his eyes, smiling despite himself. "Well, I suppose there is one good thing to come out of Quinn's return to the Cheerios," I say, my mind already drifting to the mental image of Quinn in her short, flared skirt, all sweaty and panting, barking out orders in that deliriously sexy way of hers.

Kurt must read my face for what it is, and he chuckles. "Always a silver lining, Rachel Berry; always."

* * *

When I leave Kurt, I don't immediately go home. I know I should, because I'm a little tense and a good session of singing should help ease some of it, but I _need_ to lay eyes on Quinn. I just need to see her and reassure myself she's okay. There's a part of me that acknowledges how unhealthy - and probably pathetic, as well - this all is, but I can't bring myself to care right now. I kind of miss her, and I'm trying not to think about how it's going to be once we're in separate states in the Fall.

Honestly, I don't know if I'll be able to handle it.

When I get to school, I 'sneak' onto the bleachers of the stadium and settle somewhere _behind_ the bulk of the squad but perfectly positioned for Quinn to see me. I notice the moment she does because her body relaxes ever so slightly for a single beat of my heart, and then she's back to barking out orders. Her voice is hoarse and I can tell she's breathing heavily. After I get over my initial panic at her state of being, I convince myself to _enjoy_ it. She's sweaty and flushed, and she's... _really_ sexy.

Oh, wow.

I have great plans for us.

When the practice comes to an end, Quinn sends the squad back to the locker rooms while she, Santana and Brittany linger to pack up their equipment. I wait exactly thirty-four seconds after the last of the cheerleaders disappears before I jump up. I practically skip towards them, suddenly just _happy_ , and I almost get tackled by Brittany when she spots me heading their way.

Santana grumbles at the display, and Quinn just smiles knowingly, a look in her eyes that does nothing to help with my latent arousal.

"Okay, okay," Santana finally says. "Hands off my girlfriend, Berry. Some of us would actually like to get our mack on without the image of you and Britt in such compromising positions burned into our brains."

I roll my eyes, releasing Brittany and looking at the Latina. "Wow, and here I was thinking you'd use it as fodder for your dirty, dirty mind."

Quinn eyes me curiously, her left hand reaching for my right and intertwining our fingers before either one of us can provoke Santana further. She doesn't look to be in that good a mood and, frankly, I don't blame her. If I had to do even half of what the Cheerios have to do in a single practice; I'm sure I would be a mass murderer by now. No wonder the cheerleaders _can_ be so foul.

Brittany _must_ be a unicorn.

"My mind consists of just Brittany," Santana says. "And maybe some Quinn. I have a thing for hot blondes, apparently."

I narrow my eyes. "So do I."

Santana gives me a look of disbelief, but I hold onto my stance for as long as I can. She eventually looks at Quinn. "Your girl is a crazy bitch, you know?"

"I wouldn't exactly say that," Quinn says, squeezing my fingers.

"What would you say?" Santana questions. "She's wild in the sack?"

Quinn flushes instantly, her voice caught in her throat.

I shake my head in amusement. "You know, San, we all have that one friend we can never put on speaker phone because we have no idea what the hell is going to come out of their mouth," I say; "and you're mine."

"And mine," Quinn quips immediately.

"Mine too," Brittany says, smiling at her girlfriend.

"Yes, let's all gang up on Santana," she deadpans, looking thoroughly unamused.

I risk poking her cheek with my forefinger. "You love us, Santana Maria Lopez."

She makes a show of rolling her eyes. "I searched everywhere, you know?" she says.

I frown. "What?"

"I looked through hundreds of files, searched through all my text messages, and I even searched my closet… but I sill couldn't find where I asked for your opinion."

Despite my sudden indignation, I burst out laughing.

Santana and Quinn join me a bit later, and the three of us laugh even harder when Brittany asks, "Wait, what were you looking for again?"

Quinn sucks in a breath, grimacing slightly, as she slips an arm around my waist and pulls me into her side. She does the same with Brittany on her other side, and her fellow blonde brings Santana with her. We settle into our first ever group hug, which makes Brittany giggle and Quinn smile widely. Santana pretends not to enjoy it, and I just lean into them that bit more.

"I love you," Quinn whispers into my hair, pressing a kiss to the side of my head.

"I love you, too," I whisper right back, but Brittany hears us and beams widely.

"I love you, guys, too," she says, squeezing us tightly.

Quinn giggles, and she shifts her hold on me. "We love you too, Britt," Quinn says. As if we make a silent decision, the three of us turn to Santana.

"You too, San," Britt says.

"We love you, Santana," I say quietly, eyeing her fake scowl and giggling when she does her best to stop her smile.

"Say it back, San," Brittany says.

Quinn smirks. "Yeah, San, say it back," she teases.

Santana's eyes narrow, but Brittany just kisses her cheek and her features soften. "Yeah, yeah, whatever," she murmurs. "I love you, crazy bitches."


	45. forty-five

**Chapter Forty-Five**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _apologise to your body.  
maybe,  
that's where the healing begins._

 _._

Exhaustion.

That's what this is: extreme, unforgiving exhaustion. How did I ever _enjoy_ this? I mean, I can barely keep my eyes open as I lie on Rachel's bed, but she's talking to me and it sounds important. I should be paying attention.

"Baby, are you even listening to me?"

I snap my eyes open. "I'm listening," I say. "I don't need my eyes to listen to you."

She giggles softly, leaning forward to press her lips to my cheek. "Okay, close your eyes," she says. "Just, make sure you're listening to me because this is getting out of hand."

"What's getting out of hand?" I ask, suddenly wary. Are we going to discuss my return to the Cheerios again, because I like to think I'm handling myself well? I might look like death right now, but Chris is keeping a close eye on me, and Dr McMaster makes me write in a (separate) daily journal. I've kept up with my daily food and fluid intakes, and I'm not forcing myself to do _more_ than required. I'm actually doing well.

"Finn," she says, and I turn surprised eyes on her. "Wow, you really _weren't_ listening, were you?"

I flush instantly. "I was," I protest. "Is this the thing you wanted to tell me _before_ you started telling me about the vegan cookies Brittany made for you?"

"Oh."

I grin at her for just a moment, before I turn serious. Exhaustion be damned. "What about Finn?" I ask, sitting up and ignoring my protesting muscles. "Did he say something to you?"

"Oh, he's saying a lot," she says, rolling her eyes. "It's starting to get annoying."

"It's only _starting_ to?"

She huffs in irritation. "You're obviously not giving him the time of day, so he's taken to questioning me, Britt and San - if he's feeling brave, of course - about you and your thoughts about, well, _him_... daily."

"Daily?"

"Daily," she confirms. "Just today, even. Britt and I were getting water from the fountain and he approached us to ask if we knew if you would be open to going out on a date with him."

I take a deep breath, shaking my head. "I don't understand."

"I do."

I lift my head to look at her. "What?"

"I mean, if I were ever stupid enough to actually _break up_ with you, I would come crawling back with my tail between my legs as soon as possible," she says. "I mean, I practically did. He did too, the first time, and now it's taken him five months... but I get it, Quinn. I fully understand what it's like to want you, so I have sympathy for him in that regard."

I watch her carefully. "But...?"

"But, it's enough now," she huffs. "You're _my_ girlfriend, and I _really_ don't want to be dealing with a lovesick tree-person who doesn't seem to know how to take no for an answer."

I sigh heavily. "I'll talk to him," I say.

"What are you going to say?"

"I don't quite know yet," I say; "but I'll figure it out. I know you've had to put up with a lot, and I don't want you to have to go through that anymore, okay?" I roll onto my side to look at her properly. "It's one thing for other people to _look_ at me, but this thing with Finn is different. It's not some misplaced crush based on my aesthetics, and I definitely need to talk to him to get him to back off."

She rolls her eyes at me. "Honestly, Quinn, you're so ridiculously weird sometimes," she says, laughing lightly.

I frown. "What?"

"Who in the world would even use the word 'aesthetics' that way?"

I lift myself up and move towards her. "Excuse me?" I ask, even as she tries to scramble away from me. "What did you just say to me?" I ask haughtily, grabbing for her waist to keep her in place. "Did you just call me weird?"

She squeals when I tickle her sides. "Quinn, baby, no!" she shrieks, trying to fight me off. "Quinn, no! Stop, stop, stop!" She falls back against her pillows, and I crawl over her. "Quinn Fabray, you stop that rig - "

I kiss her before she can finish her sentence, and we both moan into it. I've ceased my tickling in favour of caressing, with my hands and with my tongue. We haven't done anything more than kiss since I moved in permanently and, well, Rachel's fathers aren't home right now. Despite my exhaustion, I don't want to waste this opportunity to make her feel good; to make us _both_ feel good. We took steps in our physical relationship before _Russell_ , and the last thing I want is for us to end up regressing. Sex has become this _thing_ between us, and we have to treat it carefully.

We kiss for the longest time, the lengths of our bodies pressed tightly together. She's warm beneath me, soft and pliable, and I touch all I can, sneaking my hands under her top and worshipping her smooth skin. She squirms under my touch, her muscles jumping and her skin breaking out in goosebumps.

"Quinn," she breathes, and I move my lips along her jaw and down her perfect neck. I've missed her, and I've missed being able to _show_ her just how much I love her. There are many other ways to do that, sure, but there's something so simple _and_ complex about a kiss; a physical expression of affection.

This is a physical expression of my love.

We remove our clothing slowly, almost shyly. As an unspoken decision, we strip to just our panties. That seems... safe. My lips caress her skin, slow and gentle. I want to _worship_ every inch of her, taste and feel her in every stroke of my tongue and fingers.

"Oh, God," she hisses when I suck a nipple into my mouth, my tongue swirling. Wow. I've missed this. I've missed _her_ , and how she feels and smells and tastes. I hum against her skin and she arches her back, offering me _more_. I slide down, running the tip of my tongue along the middle line of her abdominal muscles. The action forces her hips to keen upwards and I _feel_ her all over my skin. She's slick, both hot and cold, and my brain is on another planet entirely when I allow myself to think that _I_ did that.

 _I'm_ doing that.

"Quinn," she practically shrieks when I lick at her hipbones, my tongue sneaking under the waistband of her panties. Her fingers slide into my hair and she tugs me back up to kiss her mouth. "Quinn," she says again, her tongue and lips and teeth claiming mine in the way only she knows. "Quinn."

"What?" I ask in a daze. God, _where_ are her hands?

"Quinn," she says.

I can barely get my eyes open, my heart rate rising. "What?"

"Can we - I want to - "

I blink repeatedly. "What? Rachel, _what_?"

"Are you going to make me come or what?"

My eyes narrow, and she looks entirely too smug. "What would you do if I said no? What if I'm too exhausted?"

"You're not."

"I _am_."

"You're not."

"How would you know?"

"I know you, Quinn Fabray," she says, and my playful mood immediately sobers.

"You do, don't you?" I murmur, nuzzling her cheek. "Sometimes, it feels as if you're the only one who does."

"Baby."

"Not even me," I confess.

Her nails scrape along my scalp and I practically purr. "I love you," she whispers

"I love you, too."

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Now, will you make me come?"

* * *

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"I think you broke me."

Despite my weariness, I chuckle lightly. Then: "So, is that a no to round two, then?"

Rachel sucks in a breath before she rolls onto me, her mouth immediately seeking mine. "God, no."

* * *

"I know you said not to hurt him, but if Finnocence asks me about you one more time; I'm definitely going to gouge out his eyeballs with my pencil."

Brittany, Rachel and I all grimace at Santana's words as she drops into the chair beside me, just waiting for Glee to begin. After Rachel's complaints about Finn, I have half a mind to unleash Santana, but -

"Do you have to be so descriptive?" I ask, shaking my head.

She glares at me. "Do _you_ have you be so fucking desirable to this whole damn school?"

I pout slightly. "San."

She huffs in annoyance. "Don't do that. Don't pull that face at me."

"It's not Q's fault everyone wants to get in her pants," Brittany says, her face a picture of seriousness. "She has good genes and she's popular and everyone thinks she's single."

Rachel tenses at my side, and I just _know_ this entire thing is bothering her far more than she's letting on. I don't know what she expects me to do. I've already told Finn that I don't want to get back together. I haven't said yes to any dates - coffee or not - since Sam, which was before she and I even started officially dating. Without telling everyone I'm currently in a relationship - which, in hindsight, will probably just make things _worse_ for all of us - there isn't much more I _can_ do.

I just slide my hand onto Rachel's kneecap to try to reassure her but I don't think it works. Well, it isn't _allowed_ to work because Finn doesn't let up for even a second once Glee starts. We're practicing a potential Nationals' number in the auditorium, and the discomfort of constantly having his eyes on me is starting to tell. It isn't even only me and Rachel who seem to be bothered by it, and Santana gives me a pointed look, attempting to prompt me into action.

I'm just so exhausted, both physically and mentally.

But.

Rachel. None of this is fair to Rachel.

"Okay," I say, grabbing onto the front of Finn's shirt and dragging him to the side. "We need to talk."

His eyes open wide, suddenly hopeful, and I shake my head in annoyance and disbelief. Well, _fuck_. Is he being purposefully dense?

"You need to stop," I say, releasing him and taking a step backwards. "Stop following me around. Stop watching me. It's creepy. And stop harassing my friends, okay? I told you I don't want to be with you anymore. I don't want to get back together, Finn. Listen to me. Listen to the words I'm saying. _Stop_. You need to stop."

Slowly, his face falls into something like confusion. "Quinn?"

"Please," I say. "We're not getting back together. So, just stop." It's tiring having to keep doing this, and the last thing I want to do is embarrass him, but enough really is enough. His advances are affecting my relationship with Rachel, and hurting Finn's feelings isn't enough of a reason not to level with him. Rachel comes first. She always will - well, second to me, apparently (a very close second... we're practically neck and neck).

When I think I've got my message across, I return to my ranks to rehearse the choreography for the proposed number for Nationals. For this particular part of our rehearsal, Rachel is currently standing at the other end of the stage and all I want to do is go to her, take her in my arms and assure her that I want only her. Nobody else. She's _it_ , and I've known the truth of that for longer than either of us can safely admit.

"Ease up on the staring," Santana says at my side, shaking her head in amusement. "It's like you expect her to disappear from right in front of your eyes."

I lick my lips as I tear my gaze away from my girlfriend. "We're locked in one of those silent fights," I explain. "Where we both know it's not really my fault this is happening, but it still kind of is, and we're both unwilling to deal with it, so I think I'm getting the silent treatment, right now."

Santana shakes her head, looking slightly amused. "White people."

I can't help my own chuckle at that. "I take it you would have blown up already?"

"Dude, Q," she says, rolling her eyes. "Finn isn't even _my_ girlfriend's ex, and I'm about ready to slap a bitch. Rachel is _Jewish_. I'm certain she's planned his murder countless times."

I frown slightly. "I'm pretty sure that's incredibly racist," I say because I can tell she's not referring to the religion, but more to Rachel's tanned complexion.

"You know what I mean," she says, waving a hand in dismissal. "There's only so much a person can take. If you don't make sure this thing with Finn is over, the last thing you should be worrying about is Berry's _silence_."

For some reason, a shiver runs down and then back up my spine. I turn my eyes back on Rachel to find her looking at me, and offer her a small smile. I don't miss her slight hesitation before she returns it, and I mentally curse Finn Hudson for causing all sorts of drama in my _relationship_ when I've just managed to get out of _family_ drama.

Where is that simple, easy life I was promised?

Breathing a sigh, I cross the stage towards Rachel and come to a stop right in front of her. "I love you," I whisper with my back to the rest of the Club. "I love you and I'm sorry, okay?"

She instantly deflates. "It's not your fault."

"If I could make myself less appealing, I would, but I'm entirely too vain for something like that."

Despite herself, she giggles, absently reaching out to touch my arm. "I know I should be flattered and all that - I mean, you're _my_ girlfriend - but it's..." she trails off. "I'm not an insecure person, Quinn. I've never wanted to feel _this_ in my relationship, particularly with you. It's not even that I'm jealous, because I'm not. I just - " she stops again.

"You shouldn't have to watch other people flirt with me," I finish for her.

"It's really difficult."

I sigh. "I know, and I'm sorry," I say. "I just spoke to him again, so I hope it's finally got through to his thick skull."

"Me, too."

It's a hope that dies the moment Finn raises his hand to speak in our very next Glee meeting, his eyes flicking my way for a beat. "Mr Schue, I have a song I'd like to sing," he says, and he sounds solemn. He _looks_ like someone's just told him the ending to the next _Avengers_ ' film as he slowly gets to his feet and shuffles to the centre of the floor. He settles himself on a stool while Puck grabs his guitar, and they really need to stop doing this.

It's getting old.

I slip my hand into Rachel's on her thigh when Finn starts to sing _Reason to Hate You_ by Rhys Lewis, and the meaning isn't lost on anyone. It's obvious this song is directed at me, and I shift uncomfortably in my chair as he blatantly stares straight at me as he sings the first lines.

" _Can you just lie to me, and ruin these memories? 'Cause I've gotta forget somehow, so I'm begging you burn us to the ground. 'Cause I know it's over but I don't know what to do, so help me get over, help me get over you._ "

I close my eyes because I do not need to see this.

" _And, tell me you love somebody else or something, or say you've been unfaithful to me. 'Cause I need a reason to hate you; a reason to let you go; a reason to move on. 'Cause without one, I know I won't, so tell me you love somebody else or something, or say you've been unfaithful to me_."

Rachel squeezes my hand in sympathy, and I open my eyes to look at her. I can only imagine what this all must be like for her. I think I'd be burning with rage and dying of heartbreak if ever one of _her_ exes was singing this kind of song to her. I squeeze her hand in response, trying to prove to her that this means nothing. I need to reassure her, and I make a silent vow to do it as often as possible.

" _Where do we go from here? Do you just disappear? 'Cause I don't think I can be your friend when it feels like the break isn't gonna mend. Well, I know it's over but I don't know what to do. So help me get over, help me get over you_."

Finn's eyes bore into me, and I have to look away. I know _my_ feelings for him were intense, even though I never really showed them, but this all feels so heavy, and all I want is for it to be over. Why won't it just end? Why won't he just let it be?

" _And, tell me you love somebody else or something, or say you've been unfaithful to me. 'Cause I need a reason to hate you; a reason to let you go; a reason to move on. 'Cause without one, I know I won't, so tell me you love somebody else or something, or say you've been unfaithful to me_.

" _'Cause, even after all this time, I'm hoping I can change your mind. 'Cause hope's the only open door left to choose. So, lock me out for good because I know that I'm not strong enough to stop myself from feeling things for you. So, don't give me the truth. Just tell me you love somebody else or something, or say you've been unfaithful to me. 'Cause I need a reason to hate you; a reason to let you go; a reason to move on. 'Cause without one, I know I won't, so tell me you love somebody else or something, or say you've been unfaithful to me_."

When Finn is finished, there's a long moment of silence. And then hesitant clapping from some members.

Well.

"Okay, _that_ was uncomfortable," Mercedes whispers, shooting me a look over her shoulder.

I don't even know how I'm supposed to react.

"Now, can I say he looks like a puppy?" Santana drawls, and I glance her way, just catching sight of the rolling of her eyes.

"Do you think this means he's finally done trying to get me back?" I ask her in a whisper.

"God, I hope so."

We both look at Finn, whose eyes are on me again. There's an odd look of _longing_ in them that I've never seen before, and it makes me shiver. Santana places a hand on my arm, and I look back at her. She doesn't have to say anything, because we both already know.

Finn Hudson is nowhere close to being done.

* * *

"In front of you, you'll find the list of potential audition pieces," Rachel says as she climbs the few steps to begin her performance. LeRoy, Hiram and I are situated in chairs in the Berry basement, with Rachel taking up position on the stage she had her fathers put in when she was nine years old. I love the fact that her dream hasn't once changed, and I absolutely admire her fathers' determination to help her reach it.

I glance down at the sheet of paper in my hand, noting how she's split tonight's performance into songs, and classic and modern monologues. She's even included time set aside for refreshment breaks. It's late Friday evening, and she has our full attention. We're all going to be here until she decides on her final three choices. I don't care how long it takes... even if I end up being a zombie at tomorrow's Cheerios' practice from lack of sleep.

Frankly, I'm a zombie right now, but Rachel doesn't need to know that. After all the stunts Finn's been pulling - particularly during Glee today - I think I need to put in a shift as an overly-present, super-supportive girlfriend. It helps that LeRoy even made popcorn. The man _knows_ it's one of my weaknesses. Popcorn and Rachel Berry, and I'm a total goner.

Gosh, I love this family.

I also really adore this girl, and I've made it my mission to prove to her just how lovely and wonderful she is.

Rachel gets us started by performing her three song choices: _Don't Rain On My Parade_ by Barbra Streisand, _My Man_ by Barbra Streisand and _New York State of Mind_ performed by Barbra Streisand.

"I'm sensing a theme," Hiram says with a kind smile.

Once she's sung the final note on the last song, we huddle to deliberate. There's an undeniable part of me that wants to veto _My Man_ purely on principle. I'm aware it would be completely childish and unnecessary, so I keep my mouth shut. That doesn't stop me from doing an internal happy-dance when LeRoy and Hiram both agree the song should be out of the running.

" _Don't Rain On My Parade_ will show off her vocal range much better," Hiram says.

"But _New York State of Mind_ will allow her to showcase a depth of emotion and feeling beyond the words," LeRoy argues. "It's musical _theatre_ , Hiram. _Don't Rain On My Parade_ is wonderful and dramatic, but the other one is _different_. It's unexpected."

"It's also less strenuous and less taxing," Hiram says. "What if they _want_ her to show off the extent of her voice, Lee? Then what?"

I listen to the back and forth but my eyes are on Rachel's face. She's listening as well but I notice her bouncing knee and tapping fingers. This debating is making her anxious and she really shouldn't be so wrapped up in all of this. I clear my throat to get their collective attention.

"I suppose you're going to side with Lee," Hiram says.

"Actually," I say; "I was going to ask if Rachel could sing both songs again."

Rachel looks at me with wide, confused eyes.

"I want to hear them again," I say. "This time I want to listen with my eyes closed. LeRoy's right in the sense that you'll be able to act more with _New York State of Mind_ , but I want to see if it'll have the same effect if I'm not actually looking at you. Same goes for _Don't Rain On My Parade_."

Rachel just nods as she rises to her feet and resumes her position on the stage. I immediately close my eyes and duck my head, fully intent on _listening_. I hone in on that single sense, trying to ignore everything else in favour of the wonderful sounds coming from my girlfriend's tiny body. It's constantly a surprise to me, really, that such a voice can come from anyone her size.

Years of training, she says.

Natural talent, I say.

Brilliant upbringing, LeRoy says.

Good genes, Hiram says.

All of the above.

It doesn't even matter. Whatever it is, Rachel Berry is going to conquer the world, and I have every intention of being right there to witness it happen. Whether I'm standing beside her is up to her, but I'll do everything I can to make sure I'm close by when all her dreams come true.

In the end, we decide on _Don't Rain On My Parade_. There's just... something about it; something about _Rachel singing it_. There's an undeniable confidence to be heard in just her _voice_. It's what they're looking for at this point, I reckon. The song is for her voice, and the monologues are for her acting. Which, incidentally, she's also rather brilliant at doing. If I'm being honest, it makes me a little uncomfortable watching her performance and _believing_ it. She could probably tell me I have four days to live, and I would probably, definitely, blow through my savings just because.

Rachel informs us that she intends to perform both a tragic and a comedic monologue for her audition, which will also have to correlate with modern and classical. My preferred pairing includes a _hilarious_ and brutal piece from the _Vagina Monologues_ and a severe soliloquy from _Macbeth's_ Lady Macbeth, just from having read them beforehand.

It's _nothing_ like watching her perform them, though.

She gives us a bit of a break after the third monologue she performs, and I rush upstairs to use the bathroom and check my phone. Santana and Brittany are currently out and about on a date, and I'm their preferred call if ever either of them gets arrested. I have to be 'on call' for precisely that reason. And, I mean, what _won't_ Santana do, for pride and for Brittany?

I also have three texts from Finn, which I definitely ignore. I don't even want to entertain the idea of whatever he has to say, and the _only_ reason we're going to be talking from now on is in relation to Glee and Beth. So, as much as it pains me, I force myself not to delete them and rather choose to wait to read them at a later time, because it _is_ Beth's birthday soon, and we're probably going to have to talk about that soon.

Hiram and LeRoy are back in their seats when I return to the basement, and Rachel shoots me a knowing smile.

"How are our potential delinquents?"

"Radio silent," I tell her, stealing a kiss before I resume my own seat. "Let's hope it stays that way."

She merely shrugs before settling into a chair on stage. This is the tragic modern monologue coming up, and I see her run a line of _VapoRub_ under each eye to help her gather the required tears. She'll do it naturally on the day, of course, but forcing yourself to cry through three depressing monologues is a bit much for a Friday night. She starts us off immediately, and the pain she can evoke in her voice hits me square in my chest. She draws us in, her hands doing all the work as she remains seated and recounts the day she learned of her brother's death.

I believe her, and I believe the tears.

Until Rachel visibly breaks from character and says, "holy shit, that hurts," and then bolts from her chair, stumbling her way to the sink in the basement.

LeRoy jumps up. "Sweetheart?"

"My eyes are on fire," Rachel screeches. "I rubbed them! Ow! Oh, my God, it burns!"

I know I shouldn't find it funny - I'm supposed to be an extra-good girlfriend tonight - but I honestly can't help it. To my credit, I hold out for longer than Hiram, but then we both descend into a fit of giggles that has Rachel glaring at us with her squinting eyes and sad pout. She's adorable.

"I hate you both," she murmurs when LeRoy hands her a small towel he retrieves from the laundry.

I can barely get any words out; I'm laughing so much.

It's safe to say _that_ monologue gets scratched immediately. She claims she'll have violent flashbacks if she performs it, which just makes us call her a drama queen. She huffs and pouts, and I'm forced to kiss her indignation away. It's a sacrifice I will happily make.

In the end, she goes with my paired suggestion and, coupled with her song, Rachel Berry is now ready to blow NYADA away.

Goodness knows she's been blowing _me_ away since the moment I allowed myself to notice.

* * *

 _ **Finn: Did u lyk the song?**_

 _ **Finn: I'm thinkn abt u :)**_

 _ **Finn: I miss u :)**_

I delete the messages immediately.

No.

Just, no.

* * *

"Oh, my God, _yes_!" Rachel practically screeches in my ear. "Oh - oh - yes, Quinn, yes!"

I can't help my smug smile, my heart thundering in my chest as I bring us closer and closer to the edge of extreme pleasure. My hands are cupped around her perfect ass, pressing our hips together as we move in a steady rhythm... that's becoming more and more erratic with every thrust.

"Kiss me," Rachel demands, and I immediately oblige. Her hands are in my hair, tugging possessively. Everything is hot and burning and _sweet Jesus_ those hands and those legs and that skin. The kiss is sloppy because I'm quickly losing control as I grind my centre harder against her firm thigh. I'm quickly approaching release, but I want her with me.

"Are you - " I force out, shutting my eyes tightly. "God, are - you - close?"

"Al - most."

I can barely think straight, let alone stay standing when my climax hits, and I just have enough mental faculties not to drop Rachel onto the slightly damp floor of the Cheerios' locker room. I've got her pinned against the lockers, and it still amazes me that we're actually doing this here.

At school.

Good God.

We've actually been rather insatiable lately - well, _she_ has - stealing moments in empty classrooms and janitor's closets whenever we can. It's usually just to kiss, but this is the first time we've done anything remotely _naughty_. I've just finished practice, and she's spent the last few hours rehearsing for her audition. I think we both deserve a little _reward_.

" _Quiiiin_!" Rachel finally hisses, her body tensing as a wave of pleasure rolls over and through and into her, stealing her breath and forcing her eyes closed.

It's honestly the sexiest thing I've ever seen. It constantly amazes me that I get _this_. I get her and I get to _be_ with her and love her and touch her. Me. Quinn Fabray. _I_ get Rachel Berry, and she's everything I've ever wanted and so much more.

* * *

"Rachel and I aren't having sex."

Of all the things Dr McMaster probably expects me to lead with, _that_ probably isn't one of them. She physically sputters, clearly caught off guard, but she recovers eventually, offering me a small smile. Her cheeks are a little red and, frankly, I'm certain mine are as well. "Okay..." she eventually says. "Umm, is that something you'd like to discuss?"

"Not particularly," I admit; "but I think I need to."

Dr McMaster shifts in her seat, prepares her trusty notepad, and gives me her full attention. "Okay, I'm listening."

I run my tongue over my teeth, just thinking. Where am I supposed to start? "So," I begin. "Rachel and I aren't having sex."

"You said that," she returns. "Care to elaborate on the reason why?"

"Well, at first, it was because I hadn't yet told her I loved her," I explain. "I didn't realise it was a contingent for sex, but I can understand why she was waiting for the words. I mean, I've been in love with her for so long now, but it took me a while to get around to telling her."

"Is there a reason for that?"

Oh, there are many.

I press my lips together in thought before I tell her that I was convinced my love was toxic. "I don't know how much of it is actually true, but I can't stop myself from feeling that everyone I've ever truly loved _left_ me. Logically, I _know_ I gave Beth up, but my parents and sister and - " I pause. I don't really want to talk about Finn because there isn't much to say. I like to think I've recovered well enough not to be affected by our blindsiding breakup, but now that he's made it clear he wants me back; it's forcing me to analyse those few weeks before, during and after our breakup much more closely.

His reasoning for ending our relationship has never quite made sense to me. And, everything about _after_ has always confused me. It would be nice to get some answers and the actual truth, but I'm not willing to gamble with Rachel's feelings on the matter to get that out of him. Gosh, is _Finn_ the reason we're not having sex? Now, _that_ would just be heartbreaking.

"There just always seems to be _something_ ," I say. "She doesn't want us to do it because we're _hurting_ , which really narrows down our timeline because I'm _always_ hurting."

She gives me an unimpressed look that reminds me of Rachel. "Quinn," she says, shaking her head.

I sigh. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise to me, Quinn," she says.

"Then, who should I be apologising to?" I ask, and I actually _expect_ an answer. I practically _need_ one. "Because, I mean, I think I owe _myself_ an apology," I say after a long moment. "I've been doing a lot of apologising to Rachel and Santana and Brittany and Flo and Hiram and LeRoy, but I think I owe myself one as well. For all the shit I let slide, and all the shit I chose not to deal with and just accept. I made decisions too, and they all led me to this point in my life. I'm both happy and sad, but at least I'm _feeling_ something."

She gives me a small smile. "Would it help?"

"I don't know," I confess. "I just - I want to get better... whatever that even means for me, right now. It's supposed to happen, right? Life should be getting easier, right? I mean, I've being making decisions and doing all I can to _be_ better, so why don't I feel it? Just, why is so difficult?"

"I wish I had answers for you," she says, her voice both calming and soothing. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm _not_ an Oracle."

I can't help my grin.

"But, what I do know is that it's okay to want to take a breather, Quinn," she says, smiling in that knowing way that probably would have annoyed the old me. "There's no rush, you know? Even the strongest girls get tired of being strong all the time. Your type of strength isn't something you were born with; it's something you've had to develop through all the hardships you've had to face, all the challenges you've had to overcome and all the heartbreaks you've had to endure."

Her words sound vaguely familiar to me, and I make a mental note to find the author she's paraphrasing. Whoever said that has to have other wonderfully written words. I _like_ wonderfully written words. I like _words_.

Particularly when they're sung.

By Rachel Berry.

* * *

When I leave my session, I go to the hospital to wait for LeRoy. I text him when I get to the cafeteria, buy a bottle of _Vitamin Water_ and seat myself at a table. I've been writing a letter to Rachel for a few days now. It's a love letter of sorts, in which I'm trying to tell her how much I love and appreciate her; how grateful I am for her forgiveness and kindness, and how happy I am whenever I'm with her. And _without_ her.

Just, _her_.

I started writing one afternoon and I just haven't been able to stop. It's almost seven pages long now, and it doesn't look like I'm going to be reaching an end any time soon. I _need_ her to know that, no matter what happens in our lives from this point forward, I have never and will never regret anything that's happened between the two of us. Every moment with her has been worth it... even the awful ones. Because, if we hadn't gone through all of that, how would we have arrived at this point?

"What does a man have to do to get some attention around here?"

My head snaps up to see LeRoy sitting opposite me. I barely noticed him approach, let alone sit, and I smile sheepishly. "Hey," I say.

He raises his eyebrows. "That doesn't look like homework."

"It's not," I tell him. "It's a letter for Rachel."

"Oh?"

"She likes it when I write to her," I say. "I think we could have avoided a hell of a lot of drama if I'd had the good sense to write down that I love her, instead of hiding from saying the words."

He frowns in confusion. "What?"

I just smile. "Never mind."

He reaches for my _Vitamin Water_ and takes a sip. "Do you know how bad this is for you?"

"It's marginally better than how bad being the Head Cheerio is," I point out.

"Point taken."

I grin at him.

"Are you ready to go?"

I nod as I start to pack up my things. "What are we making for dinner?" I ask as I deposit my items in my bag and rise to my feet, straightening automatically. I've always had good posture, and I'm just relieved to have healed enough not to be hunched over - in pain - anymore. Thank goodness for little victories.

LeRoy and I discuss various recipes as we make our way out of the hospital, getting only a few odd looks. These days, I barely pay attention. I mean, they _know_ who Dr LeRoy Berry is, and they've seen the two of us together plenty of times. I wonder what's being said about that, and just how long is it going to take to filter through to the church? I wonder if anyone will figure out that I actually _live_ in the Berry home now. Santana is probably salivating in anticipation of the blowout that's surely to come.

Church has been... odd. It's obvious nobody there yet knows I'm no longer living at home - it isn't exactly anything new for me to be at the Berry home - and it's doubtful my mother is going to divulge that information to her niche little circle of friends. What would she say anyway? _Well, my husband actually beat my daughter into unconsciousness when he learned she's actually one of those gays_.

Yeah, that would go down _really_ well.

I head straight to Rachel's bedroom when we get home, dumping my bag on her carpet before I practically pounce on her where she's lying across her bed and reading over some sheet music. She squeals in surprise, and then chucks the music over her head when I kiss her. For some reason, I'm feeling very affectionate, which is something that doesn't dissipate as the evening progresses. I drag her downstairs with me when I go to help LeRoy with dinner, and she sits at the breakfast nook so I can kiss her whenever I want to. Even at dinner, I keep her one hand trapped in mine, which makes it particularly difficult for us both to eat. She doesn't seem to care all that much.

It's only once we're back in her bedroom and working on our homework that she asks the question she's obviously been wanting to since I essentially attacked her when I got home.

"What's got into you?" she asks, eyeing me curiously.

I look up from my textbook and shrug. "Nothing," I say. "I just love you, is all."

"That's it?"

"I don't need anything more," I say, and her features immediately soften, her eyes tearing up. "Rachel," I murmur, slightly reproachful. Why does she always insist on crying? "Rachel Berry, you stop that right now."

She practically growls at me before she launches herself across the bed, pinning me down with her body. "Quinn," she breathes, straddling my waist and allowing her hair to curtain around us. "Quinn Fabray, I love you. I love you."

I grin stupidly up at her, my breath leaving my body as my homework is forgotten. "How much?"

" _So_ much."

"Show me."

And, when she ducks her head to cover my mouth with her own, she most definitely _does_. I don't know what it is about this moment or just this _day_ , but something about it feels monumental. It feels bigger than the two of us; bigger than anything we've ever known. It isn't even something that only I feel because I just know she feels it too. It's the only explanation for what happens next.

"Baby?" she murmurs, pulling back slightly, her eyes wide and somewhat unfocused.

"Hmm?"

"Can I tell you something?"

"You can tell me anything, little star."

She breathes out, her sweet breath dusting over my face. "There's a day when you realise you're not just a survivor," she whispers against my lips; "you're a warrior." She presses a kiss to my lips. "You're tougher than anything life throws your way."

I hum in content. I've never felt so... happy and loved and safe than in this moment, right now.

"Quinn, baby, today is that day."


	46. forty-six

**Chapter Forty-Six**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _you see your face.  
_ _you see a flaw.  
_ _how.  
_ _if you are the only one who has this face._

 _._

"I was worried."

My attention snaps away from the window, and my eyes land on Aunt Marianne once more. I've been fighting tears since I arrived, taking Quinn up on her suggestion that I try to see my beloved grand-aunt... one last time. Quinn offered to accompany me, but I think we both know this is something I have to do alone. I don't know why and I definitely wouldn't be able to explain it, but I'm here now and it feels like the right thing to have done.

"About what?" I prompt.

Her tired eyes meet mine. "I was worried I wouldn't get the chance to see you happy," she says quietly. "I was worried I wouldn't get the chance to see you be in love."

Despite myself, I blush, automatically smiling at the mere _thought_ of the object of my affection. Quinn is constantly on my mind and, right now, when I _know_ she's probably expending more energy than necessary as she tries to get back up to speed with her squad; I can't help the anxiety I feel. Is this what it's always going to be like when you're in love?

 _Jesus_.

Why do people _choose_ this?

"Aunt Marianne?" I say, a thought suddenly coming to me.

"Yes, Sweetheart?"

"Have - have you ever been in love?"

She's silent for the longest time, her eyes glazing over, as if she's been hit by an endless amount of memories, both good and bad. "Once," she says. "But it was a very long time ago."

I wait, choosing to let her talk if she so chooses.

"Do you know why they sent LeRoy to live with me?" she asks suddenly, her eyes boring into me.

"No," I say. I really don't know, but I have my theories. My Daddy has alluded to Aunt Marianne also being an outcast in their family, and it's always sounded like it started with a _relationship_ that was disapproved of within the family. Whether she chose an unsuitable significant other or she too is gay, I don't know. Though, I figure I'm about to learn.

"I made a decision they didn't like by marrying a racist man's son," she says, her gaze dropping down to her lap. "They couldn't believe that I didn't see only the white colour of his skin, and I was forced to choose. We actually eloped in the Springtime, and it was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life." She presses her lips together. "There's something to be said about dreams, Rachel. Avery sold me many of them, painting pretty pictures of so many _things_ , and I was naive to believe him. I was young and desperately in love with a man who was supposed to be different; who was supposed to _stay_."

There's something in her tone of voice that makes me _sure_ this story doesn't end well.

I'm not wrong.

"He joined the army shortly after we were married. He - he just left me here, thinking it was the only way he could make a name for himself. He was so convinced that it was the only way he could prove he was worthy to both our families, but all I wanted was for him to be here; to build a home _with me_. Neither of us was well-educated, and it was the one way he was sure he could take care of me financially, even if he wasn't around to do it _physically_."

I realise belatedly that I'm holding my breath.

"I spent days and weeks and months just _terrified_ ," she says, reaching for my hand and clasping it both of her own. "I thought I would know, you know? I thought I would feel it, but I didn't. I didn't even know until it was days later and two uniformed men showed up at my friend Sally's house - I was staying there at the time - and told me my husband was never coming home, and my unborn son would never meet his father."

I gasp.

Her fingers tighten around mine. "I - I ended up losing him too," she confesses quietly. "The - the stress of it all was just too much for my mind and my body."

With my free hand, I cover my mouth to hold back any further sounds. There's a sob in my throat, but I can't shake the feeling that I don't have the right to cry if she's managing to hold it together. _She's_ the one telling me about _her_ loss.

"The money soon ran out, and I couldn't stay with Sally forever. I tried to do things on my own because I'm a stubborn and proud woman, but my brother - LeRoy's father - paid me a visit and offered me a place to stay here in Lima. I took it, choosing to leave the repressiveness of our hometown, tail between my legs but head held high. I had _some_ time with Avery, and that's more than most people get. I never wanted to remarry and I definitely didn't want to have any children that weren't half of Avery, so I settled into my shunned life, content with what I was building for myself.

"And then LeRoy was dropped on my doorstep, heartbroken and confused. His father made me promise to steer him right, tell him stories of how _my_ own decisions landed me in this life where I'm alone. My own family wouldn't accept that I married a white man, and Avery's family wouldn't accept he married a black woman. Sometimes, only sometimes, I find myself relieved we didn't actually bring children into this world. As adorable as I'm certain they would have been, this world is hard enough without coming from a mixed marriage."

She studies my face for the longest time, and I just maintain her gaze. _I_ come from the ultimate mixed marriage, I believe. Not only are there mixed races, but mixed cultures as well. I suppose it's one of the reasons my dads have abandoned a lot of their faith and culture, rather cultivating their own brand of Berry- _ture_.

"LeRoy will always be the one who _saved_ me," she says. "I know he believes it's the other way around, but it's not. He came into my life, just fourteen years old and trying to figure out who he is, and I vowed to help him the way I wished my family helped me. We became this odd little family unit, fighting our battles together. He started working little jobs once he was settled and, together, we started saving for college. He was determined to prove himself to his family - that this thing about him didn't make him any less of a person - and he did it. He says _we_ did it, but I maintain it was all him. It's always been him.

"It was difficult for me when he went off to study. I dedicated so much of my time and effort and thoughts into his success that I was left with that gaping hole that Avery and my unborn baby left within me that even the love and life LeRoy presented could never truly fill. It's a pain I wish on nobody, Rachel, which is why I think it's important I tell you this. When you find that love - the kind you would give your own life for - you _hold on_. LeRoy found it in Hiram and he's taken my advice."

I swallow audibly. "It's good advice," I force out.

Her features soften. "So, yes, I've been in love before, Rachel," she says; "and it nearly destroyed me." She gives me a sympathetic smile. "So, you need to listen and listen well: hold onto that girl," she says, clearly referring to Quinn. "Hold onto her tightly, and never let her go. You will test each other. This much is obvious, but you exist in each other's futures in all the best ways."

This is the first moment I actually find myself _angry_. As much as I've come to accept it's unlikely Aunt Marianne is going to survive past the months of April or May - let alone the summer - my brain hasn't really allowed itself to _think_ about it. Aunt Marianne is not going to be at my wedding and she's not going to meet my children. She'll never see me perform on Broadway or witness me win my first Tony. She won't even see me graduate from _high school_.

I don't even know at whom or what I'm angry. I just am. Am I allowed to be mad at Aunt Marianne? I mean, it's not entirely her fault that old age has caught up with her in the most deplorable way but, if I can't blame her; who _can_ I blame? I need _something_.

When it starts getting late, I know I have to leave. My dads wouldn't want me driving too late, and I have this sudden, uncontrollable need to be in Quinn's strong arms. I need the reassurance of her solid presence and to hear her tell me she loves me.

Our farewell is, once again, truly emotional, and I feel _heavy_. She cries and I cry that bit more. I tell her I'll try to make it out to visit again but she just shakes her head.

"I'm going to Avery now," she whispers reverently. "They've been waiting for me."

Otherwise said: It's time.

I force myself to release her, turn and walk away. I make it back to my car before I completely break down, finding it difficult to breathe or see or even _think_. It takes me almost fifteen minutes to get control of myself, and I take out my phone to text my dads that I'm just leaving only to find I have two texts from Quinn.

 _Quinn: Okay. I think Coach legitimately BROKE me today. I'm hurting in places I didn't even think could hurt (I honestly think all 660 skeletal muscles are complaining right now). Anyway, I hope you're driving safely. I already miss you, and please say hello to AM for me :)_

 _Quinn: I know this visit must be difficult for you. Just know I'm thinking about you (I usually am, just so you know). But, I promise to be waiting for you when you get home. I love you :*_

Yip.

I'm definitely going to be holding on tightly.

I quickly fire off a text to her, and then start the ignition. When I finally leave Columbus, getting home to Quinn is my first priority. I just want - no, I _need_ \- to see her. There are many things I'm afraid of when it comes to my relationship with Quinn, and losing her is one of them. I've faced the reality of it one too many times in our short coupling, but it's enough for me to _know_ it's not something I want. I love her, and I want nothing more than to be with her for forever.

It's imperative I tell her.

Right this instance. I can barely wait.

When I get home, I find Quinn in my bedroom, hunched over my desk and working on something that looks suspiciously _not_ like homework. She immediately hides it away when I burst through the door and stalk towards her.

"Quinn," I say, momentarily distracted by the hazel of her eyes.

"Hi, you," she says, grinning at me as she spins in my chair. "How is Aunt Marianne?"

I ignore her question as I immediately settle in her lap, straddling her waist and snaking my arms around her perfect neck. "Quinn," I say again.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

Her smile is gentle and knowing, transporting me to some place in the future when our lives are simple and easy. "I love you too, Rachel Berry."

"Aunt Marianne is... fine," I tell her. "We had a good cry. We said goodbye. I think it's really almost time now."

She nods slowly, her eyes on mine. "How are _you_?"

"I want to tell you something."

"You have my full attention."

I can see that because her eyes haven't strayed from my face even once since I entered the room. "I have planned my life in excruciating detail from the moment I realised what I wanted out of it." I wait as she nods, showing me she's listening. "I've been so set on my path that it took a crying girl with the prettiest eyes I've ever seen to set my entire life alight." She's visibly blushing, but she's still not looking away. "Quinn, I want you to know that I intend on marrying you one day, and having a wonderful, _gigantic_ family with you. I intend to build a glorious life full of love and happiness and struggles that we'll overcome _together_. I intend to spend my days facing this world with you _by my side_. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life ensuring you have an endless number of great and perfect days."

Her breath catches on a sob and she buries her face in the crook of my neck.

"We're in this together, Quinn," I whisper into her hair. "Come what may, it's you _and_ me. It's no longer just me, and I've come to accept that, which is why I've had to make _new_ plans."

She chuckles lightly, and I feel the vibrations against my throat. "Do I even get a say in all of this?"

"No."

This time, she laughs properly, pulling back enough to look at my face once more. "Whatever you say, baby," she murmurs, nuzzling my cheek. "I already told you I would follow you into the light, and I'm under absolutely no illusions that's not where you're leading us."

I swoon. I don't even know how she manages to do it, but she's an expert by now. She just always knows what to say, and she's always willing to listen. I'm certain I fall more and more in love with her every time she opens her mouth. "Quinn Fabray, do you know why you're one of my favourite people in the world?" I say.

Quinn's eyebrows rise, a look of mischief in her eyes. "Because I make you come regularly?"

I laugh out loud, gently swatting at her arm. "Besides that," I say, blushing slightly. "It's because, when I'm telling a story and everyone is talking over me; you're that one person who makes direct eye contact with me and pays extra attention, so I don't get discouraged."

Her eyes gets cloudy, and she smiles that small smile that reaches into my very soul. "I love your stories," she says softly; "and I love you. I hate that people sometimes overlook you. I hate that I was once one of those people."

"You've changed," I tell her.

"Have I?"

"Of course, you have," I say with a slight frown. "How can you think you haven't changed, Quinn?"

"I don't know," she admits quietly, her voice slightly strained. "I don't _feel_ as if I've changed. Inside."

I take hold of her head in my hands, forcing her to look at me. "Maybe you don't _feel_ it, Quinn, because there's nothing _to_ feel. The changes _inside_ aren't going to be monumental because this is who you've always been. You - you just haven't allowed yourself to _be_ the person you've always been and _show_ it. Of course, you wouldn't feel it. But, believe me when I tell you I _see_ it. Every day, you show not only me but the rest of this crazy town just how amazing and special you are."

She breathes out. "Are you sure you don't want to be a cheerleader?"

I let out a giggle. "I'll be your personal cheerleader."

She arches an eyebrow, and I feel the effects of it right in the marrow of my bones. "You can definitely be my personal _something_."

Resisting the urge to kiss her is futile, so I just press my lips to hers for the briefest moment. "I'll be your personal _everything_ , Quinn Fabray."

She hums, sounding content. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

I can't stop my grin. "Tell me."

"So much."

"How much is 'so much?'"

She spreads her arms out wide, and she's honestly the cutest person I've ever met. " _This_ much," she says, all innocence, and I have to kiss her again. And again. I kiss her mouth and her chin and her cheeks. She giggles softly, and I kiss the tip of her nose.

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want what I want?"

"I want you," she tells me, her tone severe. "I just want to be better for you," she says, and I can hear the frustration in her voice. It's the heartbreaking kind, and I immediately reach for her hands, closing my fingers around hers. "I just want to be _better_."

"Baby," I whisper. "There's no rush. I promise I'm not going anywhere, so there's no need to rush your healing. There's no use pretending to be okay when you're not, and please, please stop apologising for being broken. I love you regardless, okay? Fixed, broken, healing, hurting, working on yourself; I absolutely _adore_ you and all you are."

Quinn lifts her left hand, and my right up to her lips. She presses a kiss to my ring, her eyes staying on mine. "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

If there's one sure way to make me swoon, it's this. Talk of our future and our goals and dreams has me batting my eyelashes and clutching at my overwhelmed heart. She _must_ know what she does to me when _she_ talks about us being together for forever. "Is that what you have planned for _your_ future?" I find myself asking.

"What?" she questions. "You?"

I nod.

"Come what may, Rachel Berry," she says, a certain severity to her tone. "Successes and failures, happiness and heartbreak... all I want in my life is _you_."

"Way to put a lot of pressure on a girl, Fabray," I tease.

She kisses my cheek, letting her lips linger. "I wish I'd fallen in love with you years ago," she whispers against my cheek. "We deserved each other's love long before now."

At the sound of that, I pull her into a kiss that leaves us both panting and breathless.

* * *

"Quinn," I pant. "We don't have time."

She growls in my ear, her hands already undressing me and touching my newly-exposed skin. "We _always_ have time."

"Quinn."

"Rachel."

I stare at her flushed face for a moment. I can feel myself giving in, and Quinn must see it in my expression because she attacks my neck with renewed vigour. I immediately moan at the feel of her lips, and _we really don't have time_. My fingers slide into her hair and I guide her head so I can taste her mouth.

"We have to be quick," I mumble against her lips, and she immediately shifts one of her legs between mine, which forces another moan from deep within me.

"You're actually going to have to help me then."

"I resent that."

Quinn chuckles against my ear and I shut my eyes tight at the sheer _feeling_ she constantly manages to build in me. This type of liaison is becoming increasingly more frequent and we're definitely leading up to the... _mother-load_. We're going to have sex, and we're going to have it soon. We'd probably be having it right now but circumstances have made getting to that point a little... difficult.

"I swear," I hiss, "if we get caught; I won't talk to you for two weeks."

"Baby, you should know by know that isn't enough incentive for me."

I gasp in indignation, and she uses the opportunity to plunge her tongue into my mouth, immediately turning my entire body to mush. I practically melt into her, and I feel her smirk against my lips. God, she's entirely too good at this. I would give her everything. In a heartbeat. All she has to do is ask, but I know she never will.

"You have five minutes," I say.

Her answering grin is devilish, and I feel it right between my legs. "Plenty of time."

* * *

It's when Quinn pops her head into my bedroom to ask if I have any clothes for the laundry that I finally make my decision. It's nothing monumental but I do feel a shift within myself that results in my staring at Quinn's face for long enough to make her uncomfortable.

"Uh, Rach?" she prompts. "Any laundry?"

I blink, coming back to myself. "I think there's a pile in my bathroom," I tell her, absently gesturing with my arm.

She grins at me, and then practically skips into said bathroom with her laundry basket tucked under her arm. She's doing laundry. She's doing _my_ laundry, and the notion of just how domestic this all is isn't lost on me. In fact, it merely solidifies my resolve. This is _definitely_ the girl with whom I'm going to be spending the rest of my days.

"Quinn," I say when she comes back out, basket substantially fuller.

"Is there more?" she asks, quirking her eyebrow.

"No," I tell her. "Just, do you think you could come back up here when you're done? I need to talk to you about something."

Her eyes widen slightly, but she nods and disappears. Once my door clicks closed behind her, I rise to my feet and pace the length of my room. It's fine. This is nothing. I'll just tell her and we'll discuss it. It's going to be fine. We're doing that thing where we actually talk about things.

Quinn returns ten minutes later, and she has two bottles of water and a packet of vegan wine gums with her. I kiss her lightly, and then invite her to sit with me on the edge of my bed. We face each other and, as nervous as Quinn visibly is, she offers me an encouraging smile which I'm able to return. I've never truly believed I'm a lucky girl. Sure, my life hasn't been the _worst_ , but it also hasn't all been sunshine and roses. But, with Quinn, I can't shake the feeling that it now has a _chance_ to be.

Steeling myself, I open my mouth to speak. "So," I say, and she raises her eyebrows expectantly. "I think we should talk."

She sets down her water bottle and faces me properly. "What are we talking about?"

"We're talking about sex, Quinn."

Her eyes widen ever so slightly but, otherwise, she doesn't react at all. "We're talking about sex," she repeats.

I take a deep breath and release it slowly. "I love you, and I'm ready."

"You're ready?" she questions. "What exactly are you ready for?"

I swallow nervously. "All of it."

"All of what?"

"Quinn," I whine. "I'm the less experienced one here, so, as cute as it is, I'm going to need you to stop being purposefully obtuse, okay?"

She just gives me an expectant look.

"Do you... want to?" I ask, suddenly hesitant. "I mean, are _you_ ready?"

"For what?"

"Quinn."

She gives me my small smile and it settles the churning in my stomach. "Are you seriously asking me if I want to have sex with you?"

I swallow nervously. "Is there some other way I should be phrasing it?"

She shrugs. "Perhaps."

"Enlighten me."

She arches an eyebrow. "I _suppose_ I could think of a few things," she says, almost conversationally.

I blink slowly. "You're going to have to be slightly bit more specific," I say, my voice catching.

Her answering smile is bordering predatory as she leans into me, her hot breath washing over my skin as she speaks. "I don't even know why you have to ask the question, Rachel; I definitely want to," she says, her right hand sliding onto my thigh. "Of course, I want to have sex with you," she says, her hand moving higher. "I want to hear you scream my name while you're in the throes of ecstasy."

I've stopped breathing.

All bodily function has ceased.

"I want to feel you shudder all around me," she says, and my breath catches. She's stunning when she's like this, completely in control. "I want to see you shake and tremble beneath me. I want to - "

"Okay," I blurt out, putting a hand over hers to halt its progression up my thigh.

She raises her eyebrows. "Okay?"

I let out a shaky breath. "Definitely."

Quite suddenly, she sits back, releasing my body. "So, we're ready?"

"We're ready, Quinn."

Her face spreads into a wide smile. "Do - do you have plans?" she asks. "I mean, do _you_ have plans, or can _I_ make plans?"

I blink. "At this moment, no, I have nothing planned," I tell her. "You're, umm, welcome to make plans."

Her answering mega-watt smile is enough for me to know I've said the correct thing. "Do you have a date in mind?"

"As soon as possible, preferably," I say, suddenly breathless.

She chuckles lightly. "I'll keep that in mind," she murmurs, leaning towards me and capturing my lips in a searing kiss. She nibbles gently before sliding her tongue into my mouth and turning my brain to complete and utter putty. With the prospect of _more_ on the table, I'm suddenly both nervous and hell bent on savouring every moment between now and then.

Quinn draws my tongue into her mouth, sucks lightly, and then releases me. She pulls back slightly, her eyes meeting mine. "Just so you know," she says; "I'm now going to be wildly inappropriate."

I frown. "What?"

"Prepare yourself, Berry," she says. "You have _no_ idea what's coming your way between now and when I finally get to make love to you."

My breath hitches at the sound of her words.

God.

She's barely _started_ , and I'm already losing it.

Heaven help me.

* * *

"I genuinely enjoy any activity in which you bend over."

Despite myself, I let out a small yelp when Quinn appears at my side, sporting a mischievous smirk. She's _dangerous_ when she's like this. I remember once thinking I would never survive a full-on, Quinn Fabray, flirt-attack, and I'm barely surviving as is. Most of her 'wildly inappropriate' comments have been rather humorous, earning giggles from me and amused glares from her. She really is pure perfection, even though I'm no longer allowed to use the word 'perfect' around her.

"Hi," Quinn says, her eyes shining with mirth.

I pretend to scowl at her, and it's a half-hearted attempt if I've ever seen one. I do return my attention to my locker without acknowledging her, which is both a good and a bad idea.

"You're not even going to greet me?" she asks, pouting. When I don't respond, she steps closer to me, and I can feel her warm breath on my skin. She's so... close. The front of her body is practically pressed against my side. "Rachel," she murmurs, and my entire body immediately breaks out in gooseflesh. "I just wanted to let you know I love you, even though you're not naked right now."

My breath hitches and, yeah, I don't know if I'm going to survive all of this.

Her grin is evil when she steps away, spins around and stalks off, hips and ponytail swaying in a dangerous rhythm. All I can do is watch her go and just hope I find the strength to survive all that is Quinn Fabray.

* * *

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

I wring my fingers together, trying to find both the words and the courage to ask what I want to. It's a thought that's been playing on my mind, and I would very much like to know where she stands. I just have to get it out first. "Do you - do you know _how_ to, umm - "

Quinn frowns at me over the top of her Psyche textbook as she works diligently at the foot of my bed. "What is it, Rachel?" she asks.

"Do you actually know _how_ to have lesbian sex?"

The textbook slips from Quinn's hands and lands with a thud on my bedroom floor, startling us both. She stares at me for the longest time, her eyes wide and fearful. "In theory, yes," she eventually says, her tone even.

"Does that mean you've done... research?"

She covers her eyes with her one hand, instantly blushing a deep red. "Rachel," she whines.

"This is important, Quinn," I say. "We have to be able to talk about these things if we intend on _doing_ them."

She sighs, grumbling something under her breath. "Fine, yes, I've... done research."

"What kind of research?"

At this, she turns even redder and she avoids my eyes. "Books, mainly. TV. Santana might have offered to educate me."

"Oh, God," I say, horrified.

"Oh, God, all right," she echoes, shaking her head. "I don't think I'm going to be able to look at either her or Brittany for a long while."

I smile in sympathy.

Her eyes meet mine. "I know what to do, Rachel," suddenly serious. "I'm just worried about how _well_ I can do it."

I shift across the bed so I can touch her, my hand sliding over her arm. "Would it make you feel better to know I'm worrying about the same thing?"

"Truthfully, no."

I chuckle lightly, threading my fingers with hers. "You've been mind-blowing at everything else we've done," I assure her. "I think we can figure the rest out together."

"I just want to make sure it's good for you."

"For _us_ , Quinn."

"For us."

"It will be," I say. "We're Quinn and Rachel."

"Saying our names like that doesn't automatically equate to good sex," she says, arching an eyebrow.

"Just you wait, Quinn Fabray."

She squeezes my fingers. "I can't wait to wake up in between your legs," she says, so seriously, and I actually sputter. She giggles softly, leans forward to give me a chaste kiss, and then sends me back to finish up with my own homework.

I find I can't wait either.

* * *

"Dad? Daddy?"

If I thought discussing sex with Quinn was bad enough; _this_ is giving it a run for its money. I just know it would be worse if Quinn were here with me - she would probably spontaneously combust or something equally tragic - so I just have to suck it up and do this alone. There are no secrets between me and my dads, and I mean it much more _now_ than the last time I felt this sentiment.

"What is it, Sweetheart?" my Dad prompts, giving me his full attention. The three of us are seated at the kitchen table, at the end where we don't eat. It reminds me of the day Quinn and I were meant to have dinner with her mother, though I feel less anxious at this moment. I mean, it's not as if this topic of conversation is a walk in the park but it's marginally better than discussing Quinn's relationship with her parents with my own.

I breathe out, gathering courage. "You've always said I can talk to you about anything," I start, nervously biting at my bottom lip.

"Of course," my Daddy says, succeeding at sounding reassuring.

"I want to be completely honest with you," I say; "both Quinn and I do. She - _we_ \- are so grateful for all you've done for her and for us." I drop my gaze for a moment, just thinking about my girlfriend, who is conveniently over at Santana's house after what must have been a gruelling practice. "Our - our relationship has changed since she's been living here, which is to be expected."

They both nod in understanding.

"It's nothing bad, and nothing particularly good. It's... comfortable and rather lovely, and it's everything I've ever wanted. It's the life I want for and _with_ Quinn." I suck in a breath, drawing courage from _somewhere_. "We do, however, intend on taking steps in our relationship to ensure we grow both as individuals and as a couple."

At this, they both frown in confusion.

Quietly, I pull out the coupon Quinn purchased for this upcoming weekend and slide it onto the tabletop in the middle of the three of us. "This is a weekend getaway to that resort just outside of Akron you were talking about, Dad," I say, and his eyes widen slightly. He _knows_ how much such a coupon actually costs, even though Quinn refuses to tell me that bit of information. "The getaway can be either for the two of you, or for Quinn and me."

My Daddy's brow furrows, and I force myself to take a deep, calming breath. I need to push on and get this out before I lose my nerve.

"It is my intention to start having sex with Quinn," I say. "This weekend."

It's almost comical the way my Dad's eyes widen and my Daddy's jaw drops in... surprise, mostly. Which actually confuses _me_.

"Wait," my Dad says after exchanging a brief look with his husband. "You two aren't - you haven't - " he halts, frowning. "What on earth have you been doing this entire time if you haven't - " he stops again, unable to bring himself to say the required words. He looks at my Daddy. "I thought I would be better equipped for this conversation, but I'm not."

"Obviously," my Daddy says, his eyes drifting to me. "What I think your father is trying to say is that we were under the impression you and Quinn were already engaging in sexual intercourse."

I screw up my face at how clinical he makes it sound. I shake my head. "Well, we're not," I say. "It's been kind of a topic of contention between us for quite some time," I inform them, and see them both bristle at the implication of those words. "No!" I hasten to say. "Not like we're pressuring each other or anything like that. We've been _ready_ for quite some time but there are a lot of underlying factors that have almost forced us into waiting for as long as we have." I really don't want to get into the intricacies of Quinn's and my sordid affair to get to this point, so I just hope the topic will be dropped.

"But, you're both ready now?" my Dad asks, clarifying.

I want to bury my face in my hands. We may be a very open household but this is a little too much. I can only imagine how much worse this would be if Quinn were here. Gosh, my girlfriend would probably resemble a tomato, I'm sure. I think _I_ resemble some kind of fruit right now.

"We are," I say; "and we want it to be special, so I kind of don't want to have my dads just down the hall, if you know what I mean."

They exchange a look, clearly having a silent conversation during which I am easily forgotten. I still stand my stance that I love _love_ , and I especially love to see it in my dads. They can have an entire discussion without even having to say any words.

"Okay," my Dad finally says, turning back to look at me. "We've decided."

We spend the next few minutes ironing out the details, and then I go back upstairs to text Quinn that it's safe to come home now. Not even fifteen minutes later, I see Santana's car pull up from my bedroom window and Quinn hops out, waving to her best friend with one of her grateful smiles on her face. Making a decision, I rush out of my bedroom with the intention of greeting Quinn the way I probably would in my domestic fantasy future.

"Hi, you," I say, meeting her at the front door with a long hug and a brief kiss.

Quinn's arms tighten around my waist, and I feel her breathe me in. With any other person, I might find the action a little... odd, but I've come to learn that everything Quinn does has a purpose. "Hi," she whispers into my hair.

"Tired?"

"Fucking exhausted."

I giggle softly, running my hands along her back as the two of us commandeer the entrance hall for our mini-reunion. One would think we haven't seen each other for years with the way we're acting. "I missed you," I tell her.

"I missed you, too."

"How was practice?"

"Killer," she mumbles. "How was the talk with your fathers?"

I pull back to look at her face. "They've decided to take us up on our offer of a weekend getaway."

Quinn grins. "I'm glad," she says. "It would have been wasted on us, really." She's referring to her Saturday practice, which would have allowed us only one night away, and, this way, my dads will get to enjoy an entire weekend getting pampered.

Which gives Quinn and I an entire weekend to explore _each other_.

"Why do you look like you're thinking something dirty?" Quinn asks with a slight smirk on her face.

It's almost comical how easy it is for me to get turned on these days. That smirk of hers definitely isn't helping. "How exhausted _are_ you?" I ask, my tone of voice laced with obvious innuendo.

Quinn immediately perks up. "I could be persuaded to forego the nap I initially had planned."

I slide my fingers into her hair, dragging my nails across her scalp. "That's good to know," I murmur, and she practically purrs.

"I really wish I could select all your clothes and press 'Delete.'"

At the sound of that, I take hold of her hands and tug her up to my bedroom where I proceed to use my hands to do the 'Delete' button's work.

* * *

"Rach?"

"Hmm?"

"You're officially my favourite cardio workout."

I giggle softly, shaking my head in amusement. "How many of these do you have up your sleeve?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm just wondering."

She flicks my bare bicep with her forefinger. "If you must know, I have plenty, Berry," she says, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice. "I'm just getting started."

I look at her for a moment, my gaze settling on her face and taking in every wonderful line of her perfect features. She truly is stunning in every way. "We, aren't we?"

Her brow furrows, and it's a ridiculously cute look on her. "We're what?"

"You and me, Quinn," I murmur; "we're just getting started."

* * *

"I miss you, even when I'm not horny."

I can't help my laugh. "I swear, these are getting better and better."

"Why aren't you taking them seriously?" she asks, pouting slightly. It's the most adorable thing I've ever seen but, right now, I don't think she'll appreciate my telling her that. "You're not meant to be laughing."

"I'm not?"

She huffs cutely, her arms folding over her chest as she stands unnaturally close to me at my locker. I don't know if she's doing it on purpose but it feels as if she's testing the boundaries a little. Her gaze holds mine for just that bit longer and her touches linger. We're _always_ together. Even the cafeteria sees the two of us break social norms. On occasion, I sit with the Unholy Trinity at the Cheerio table and, other times, the three of them come sit with me and the other Glee kids. I think it's easier when it's all three of them, even if Quinn always sits right beside me, her knee touching mine or our elbows pressed together.

There's just always parts of our bodies that are in contact.

I love it.

"Today is Friday," Quinn says, leaning just bit closer.

I suck in a breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

"What time are your fathers leaving?"

"Dad gets out of work early on a Friday, and Daddy took the day off, so they plan to head out just after lunch."

She bobs her head once, lost in thought. I use the opportunity to study her features because just _looking_ at her is one of my favourite things to do. "So, when we get out of Glee, we'll be alone."

"Yes."

She breathes out shakily.

"Are you nervous?"

"Deathly."

"Don't be."

She blinks. "Are _you_ not nervous?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I think you're nervous enough for the both of us," I say, and she gives me an unimpressed look. "And, as difficult as it's been to relinquish control of this huge step to you, I trust you, and I love you. I promise everything is going to be fine."

"How do you know?"

"Because we're Quinn and Rachel."

She huffs, shaking her head. "Baby, you have to stop saying that like it _means_ something."

I quirk an eyebrow. "Doesn't it?"

She pouts slightly but says nothing.

"Just so you know, I went for a wax," I tell her, and her eyes snaps towards me. "Everywhere."

She unconsciously licks her lips, and I reason telling her this is probably a bad idea because now _I_ can't concentrate.

"I feel like I'm floating," I add a beat later, and we both giggle.

"Well," she murmurs, recovering. "I can't wait to taste you."

 _Oh, my God_.

I grip my locker door tight as a sudden wave of arousal washes over me. "Quinn," I hiss.

She looks as innocent as ever as she cocks her head to the side. "Just so _you_ know, your exquisite breasts have exacerbated my asthma."

I sputter.

"One more for the road," she whispers, leaning in close; "I love you for so much more than just your life-saving body heat."

And, really, all I can do is laugh.


	47. forty-seven

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _expect sadness like you expect rain.  
_ _both, cleanse you._

 _._

My nerves kick in pretty early Friday afternoon. We're still in Glee when Brittany asks a seemingly innocent question about scented candles, and I have to spend the next hour _not_ devolving into such a panic because I can't remember if I bought Lavender or Cocoa Butter or Popcorn scented candles for our weekend.

God, I'm going to end up making such a mess of this.

I suppose my only saving grace is that nothing is intended to happen tonight. It isn't as if I'm not dying to rip her clothes off and make her mine; it's just that I would very much like to spend the 'morning after' in bed with her, and I can't exactly do that if I have to be up and at practice by seven o'clock. So, no, Saturday is our day, and tonight is... _foreplay_. I grin a little mischievously at that, and Rachel sends me a curious look. I merely shrug in response. She's going to find out soon enough.

I've spent the entire week planning and replanning, making lists and dragging Santana with me to the mall. It has to be perfect. I want it to be everything and so much more for her, and for us. We've waited so long, built it up into this massive thing, and I'm definitely feeling the pressure to perform. It has to be romantic... which reminds me to throw out those ridiculous condoms Santana insisted I buy. Honestly, what are we supposed to do with those?

When Glee finally lets out, I linger while Rachel speaks to Mr Schuester about our potential setlist for Nationals. She's trying so hard to get him more on the ball about it, but he keeps resisting. I don't understand it. Even if he doesn't like Rachel's ideas; the least he can do is _listen_. Doesn't he know she's a musical genius?

The moment she stomps her foot in frustration, I clear my throat, and she jerks at the sound, as if she's _just_ remembering I'm in the room. She flushes instantly, bids our teacher farewell, and then makes her way to where I'm still sitting, waiting for her.

"Hi," she says, and I smile in response. "Ready to go?"

I nod as I rise to my feet. "I just have to grab a few things from my locker. Meet at yours?"

"Sure."

After a quick look around the now-empty room, I risk a step close to her and press my lips against hers. Everything inside of me manages to settle just with that one kiss, and I'm grinning like a bloody fool when I pull away. "Two minutes, tops," I assure her, and then leave the choir room. The truth is I don't actually need to get anything from my locker, but I need her to open _hers_ without my standing right there.

Still, I make my way to my locker and open it to keep up with the ruse. I ruffle through it for show, and then close it as quietly as I can. I practically sneak up behind her and peer over her shoulder at the new item she's obviously found.

"What's that?" I ask, and she practically jumps two feet in the air.

"Quinn!" she shrieks, pressing a hand to her chest, over her heart. "What the hell?"

I stand a little too close to her, the heat of her back against my front and my cheek practically pressed against hers. "What are you reading?"

"Baby, you know exactly what this is," she says, sounding breathless.

"Hmm," I hum. "Tell me anyway."

She turns around to face me. "When did you even do this?"

"While you were sleeping," I say. "And pretty much every time I wasn't in your presence. I've really been slacking on my homework lately."

"Quinn," she breathes, her eyes dropping down to the bound papers that make up my love letter that just grew and grew. It's practically a chapter long, by now. I couldn't even fold it up and put it into an envelope, so I had the pages bound like a little booklet.

"One day, I started writing about how much I love you and all you mean to me, and I haven't been able to stop since," I explain. "I had to force myself to bring it to an end in time for this weekend, and put together a conclusion." I clear my throat. "That, in itself, ended up being four pages long."

"Quinn," she laughs. "Next time, I'm giving you a word limit."

"You wouldn't dare."

She giggles. "This is amazing," she says. "Thank you. I can't wait to read it." Her smile falters and she pouts. "Wait. When am I supposed to read it? I want to read it _now_ , but you know I don't like to read your words in front of you and I - "

"Quit whining," I interrupt, definitely amused. "You'll get to read it tonight."

"Tonight?"

I cock my head to the side. "Why? Were you expecting to be doing something else tonight?"

She frowns. "I don't know if you're messing with me or not."

"I'm surprised," I quip. "I thought you knew me _so well_."

She studies me carefully, her eyes reading my face. "I'm not really sure what's happening right now, but I'm not going to ask, because this is your show, and I'm respecting that."

I want nothing more than to kiss her in this moment, and it takes every ounce of my control not to close the already-minimal distance between us.

"Are you ready to go home?" she asks cutely.

"I've been ready for a very long time," I tell her, my tone serious, and it's clear to both of us that I'm talking about something else entirely.

She grins at me. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

"I might," I say sincerely; "but I have a feeling you're looking forward to showing me."

* * *

"Are you going to cook naked?"

Despite how perplexing Rachel's question is, I can't help my grin. "Just how long have you wanted me to do that?" I ask.

"Probably since the first time I watched you floating about this kitchen."

I narrow my eyes, bending to retrieve a cutting board from a cupboard beneath the counter. "Seriously?"

She nods. "There was just something about having you in this kitchen; in _my_ kitchen that was just so terribly appealing."

"Rach, I'm pretty sure we weren't even dating then," I point out, brow furrowed.

"That doesn't mean I wasn't able to appreciate the _idea_ of a naked you," she says easily, as if she hasn't just revealed something about our pre-Faberry interactions. From her words, it's clear her subconscious was trying to tell her something about the two of us for quite some time. "You're very _aesthetically_ pleasing, as you like to put it."

I have to laugh at that because, honestly, she's never going to let me forget that, is she? "And yet you _still_ freaked out when you started to like me," I point out.

She chucks a grape at me, and I catch it against my body, trapping it between my forearm and abdomen. I'm smiling wickedly as I retrieve it with my free hand pop it in my mouth. "We're not talking about that ever again," she dismisses with a proud sniff.

"Why?" I ask, all innocence. "I never want to forget anything about how we ended up _right here_."

Her eyes are on mine as she puts a grape in her own mouth, but she says nothing. There's a severity in her gaze that I can't ignore. I can only imagine what she's thinking because, damn, if that look in her eyes isn't enough of a turn-on, I don't know what is.

I clear my throat. "Don't eat too many of those," I say. "You'll spoil your dinner."

From the bar stool she's sitting on in the kitchen, her features soften and her eyes grow affectionate. I miss the heat, but I like this look much better. If I could spend the rest of my life looking at _this_ face; I think I would live a happy life.

I blink, a little nonplussed. "What?" I ask. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," she says, sighing dreamily. "I just - you're going to be a great mom, Quinn."

I frown. "Uh, because I told you not to eat too many grapes?"

She chuckles lightly. "No," she says. "It's more than that. It's _you_."

"It's me?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Are you just fishing for compliments?"

I laugh, deciding now's the time to approach what more I have planned for this night. "Tell you what," I say; "for every one thing you claim will make me a good mom, I'll remove an item of clothing."

She definitely perks up at the sound of that.

"Though," I add; "if I end up burning a nipple; it's on you."

This time, she laughs out loud. "I promise I'll kiss it better."

My breath catches because, yes, just the thought of Rachel's mouth on my skin is enough to mess with my involuntary bodily functions - like breathing and blinking. How does she expect me to concentrate on preparing our dinner with those words and images in my head?

Before I can even come up with a cheeky response, Rachel is up out of her seat and _on_ me. She presses her body against mine, backing me up to the counter and kissing the air right out of my lungs. It's a bruising, heated kiss that she commands with that extremely talented mouth with which she's been blessed.

Just when I think I'm sure I'm about to suffocate, she pulls back and smirks evilly. "Now then, Fabray, I do believe you intend to get naked."

And, well, I do.

* * *

" _A best friend is someone who loves you when you forget to love yourself_ ," Rachel reads aloud from her phone, before her eyes seek out mine as we lounge on the couch in the living room. We're leaning against opposite ends of the couch, our legs tangled under a light blanket as we attempt to watch television. There's a book in my lap, but I'm a little too full from dinner and warm from my shower to focus on it.

We're having one of those lovely, lazy Friday nights. We're both noticeably relaxed, dressed in our pyjamas and just enjoying each other's company. My nerves have disappeared because, yeah, this is Rachel. It's only Rachel, and she loves me. She loves me, and I love her.

"Does that make you my best friend?" I ask, even though we both know the answer to the loaded question. In any care, it feels as if she's asking an entirely different question.

"I don't know," she answers, looking away from her phone's screen. "Does it?"

"I think so, yeah," I tell her. "I think the fact that we can be those people for each other is one of the reasons we work so well."

She raises her eyebrows, her expression giving away her scepticism.

I chuckle. "Well, I guess it's all relative," I admit. "We've had a lot to deal with in the few short months we've been together, but I firmly believe we're perfect for each other." I sigh. "Well, you're perfect for me. That much, I know."

Setting her phone aside, she shifts on the couch, disentangling her legs and rising onto her knees before crawling towards me. "Quinn," she says, her voice low. "I already agreed to sleep with you. There's no need to flatter me."

I roll my eyes playfully, my breath catching when she fully settles on me, draping her warm body over mine. "I love you," I say, because I don't think I've said it enough times today.

She wastes barely a second before her mouth is on mine. It's a possessive kiss, but not demanding. Our entire night has been littered with these types of kisses, stealing my breath and leaving me panting. Before I know it, I feel her hands slide over my shoulders, over my neck and into my hair, tugging gently.

She's grinning when she pull away, a content look on her face. "Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

She presses a chaste kiss to my lips, pulling back to look at me once more. "I'm glad I get to be that person for you."

"As much as I love that you _are_ , I'm working very hard to make sure you no longer have to be," I tell her. "I'm learning how to love myself the right way, Rachel, and you're helping me with that every single day. There's so much life left for us to live, and I find myself looking forward to getting to spend it all with you."

"Do you have any idea how happy it makes me when you talk about the future?"

It's a rhetorical question, I assume, so I just kiss her quickly and sweetly. Because, the thing is, I _do_ know. Talking about our mutual future is something I like to do, because the plans involve _both of us_ , and we're both going places. It was never like this with Finn. With him, I felt as if I was settling. With Rachel, I'm flying.

We both are.

We're going to get out of this place and _soar_.

My brow furrows slightly as a thought comes to mind, and I'm speaking before I can help it. "Rach?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you given any thought to _how_ you want to come out?" I ask, suddenly nervous. For one night, I'd like us to have an easy, carefree conversation about _nothing_ , but it just feels like an impossibility these days. We're constantly having emotionally-charged, profound and deeply-important talks about life and love and our relationship that we realise still has buckets and spades to grow. There's so much more for us.

"Not exactly," she admits quietly. "This isn't something that should be some huge spectacle, Quinn. I mean, I would be content just to be able to hold your hand as we walk to class, and possibly kiss you goodbye when we separate at the classroom door."

I blink. "And, beyond school?"

"I want to go on a date with you, without a care and without either of us looking over our shoulder."

I nod thoughtfully. "My church and its goers are always going to be here, Rachel," I say. "They're always going to be around, which means they'll see and they'll know and they'll talk. It's all expected, and we're going to have to be prepared for it."

She bites her bottom lip, visibly thinking. "Are you saying you want to be out _here_?" she asks. "As in, in Lima, Ohio?"

I nod. "I'm - I'm prepared for the aftermath of that," I tell her. "Maybe, not right now, but in the future. When we don't actually have to _live_ here."

"You mean, when you don't have to go back to that church?"

I sigh. "Something like that, yeah."

"Quinn? Talk to me, baby."

"It's just that we're taking all these steps in our relationship, and coming out is going to be one of those," I tell her. "I don't expect it to be some big announcement or anything ridiculous like that."

"What? You want to hold my hand in the street and kiss me in the corridor?" she attempts to tease, but I'm serious.

"Exactly."

Her breath catches. "Quinn?"

"Will you think about it?" I ask. "It doesn't have to be a _thing_ , but it is something I've been thinking about."

She eyes me curiously. "It's important to you?"

"So many things about my life have been so out of my control," I say, unable to look at her. "I think I'd like for this one thing to happen the way I want it to, you know?"

She kisses me tenderly. "Okay, Quinn," she says. "I'll think about it."

"I love you, you know that?"

"I know, baby," she murmurs. "I love you, too."

* * *

Saturday morning sees me waking to an empty bed. I absently reach out for the warm body that's _supposed_ to be beside me, but all I feel is cold. Even the sheets are freezing, which means said body has been missing for a while. Frowning, slightly, I practically fall out of bed, slide my glasses onto my nose and go looking for my girlfriend.

What I eventually find isn't exactly shocking, but it does surprise me. Rachel is sprawled out on the couch in the living room, her right knee bent with the left crossed over it. It's bouncing slightly, as she _reads_.

My _letter_... that's a chapter long.

I know for a fact this is the second time she's reading it because she spent an awfully long time in the bath I drew for her last night. Reading and crying. Afterwards, she practically crawled onto me and _didn't move_.

"Rachel?"

She squeaks in surprise, sitting up immediately. "Quinn?"

Using my forefinger, I rub my left eye of sleep. "Baby, what are you doing?"

"Reading."

I can't stop my yawn. "Isn't it a little early?"

"I already told you I love your words," she says, as if it's the simplest explanation it the world. "I was actually dreaming about them, and then I woke up and I _had_ to read them again. I don't know what it is, Quinn, but I just love reading and hearing that you love me, because it still feels like a dream, sometimes. Believe me when I say it will never be too early for that."

I merely hum in quiet agreement. "That's all fine and dandy, but you'll have the entire time I'm at practice to read," I say. "Come back to bed."

It's almost as if I've flipped a switch with the way her features soften and her eyes grow warmer. Without another word, she sets the booklet down on the coffee table and rises to her feet. "Today's the day, isn't it?"

Audibly swallowing, I nod.

Rachel's eyes drift downwards from my face, lingering on my breasts, my hands and the apex of my thighs before they work their way back up to meet my gaze. I'm flushed and heated under her unabashed scrutiny. She looks as if she's ready to devour me, right here, right now.

I clear my throat. "Come back to bed," I say again. "I have at least an hour left of sleep, and I want to spend it with you."

Smiling almost bashfully, Rachel saunters up to me, presses a kiss to my cheek, and then heads upstairs. All I can do is watch her go, just knowing that this entire day is going to be one of most memorable one we've had in quite some time.

Well, I can only hope it will be.

* * *

Brittany is in the middle of telling me and Santana a story about Lord Tubbington when my phone starts to vibrate in my hand, and I turn away slightly to answer the call in an attempt not to draw too much attention to myself. We've just finished with practice and everyone is packing up equipment and hydrating. It's been a successful practice: no fainting and nobody throwing up. We did get yelled at a few times - there's still a lot to do to perfect our routines for Nationals.

"Hey," I say into my phone, unable to keep the smile off my face.

"Hi, baby," Rachel says. "I was just calling to see what you wanted for lunch?"

"Excuse me?"

"I just got out of the studio, so I thought I would pick up something for us while I'm this side of town," she says. "Are there any requests?"

"Surprise me," I automatically say.

"I was hoping you would say that," she says brightly, and I can just imagine her skipping in the streets, that beaming smile I love so much framing her beautiful face. "See you later, baby. I love you."

"Love you, too."

When I hang up, Santana is looking at me, clearly amused. "You are so whipped."

I shrug, my mouth opening to respond when we're interrupted by a voice behind us. "Who's whipped?"

I immediately tense at the sound of Cassie Munro's voice. She's another senior Cheerio on the squad, who's rather nice, really. I just - I don't like when people attempt to pry into my life, and Santana _knows_ that. Which is why _she's_ the one to respond. A straight-up denial won't do - we both know that - so she's going to have to lie.

"Quinn," Santana says, gesturing towards me. "She is a _sucker_ for Mrs Rogers' twins. They have her wrapped around their little, grimy fingers."

The smile that spreads across my face is genuine the moment I think of Henry and Delia Rogers, who _are_ pretty adorable. "It's not my fault," I say; "have you _seen_ them? It's like cuteness overload left, right and centre."

"Yeah, yeah," Santana says, smirking at me. "You are so whipped."

"That, I am," I say breathlessly. It doesn't even matter whom we're talking about now, because the truth remains: I'm a complete goner... for a pair of twins _and_ Rachel Berry.

Well, _especially_ Rachel Berry.

* * *

From the moment I get home from practice, it feels as if I can barely catch my breath. We both know what's coming, and I can barely concentrate on anything other than the fact that we're going to have sex.

Oh, my God.

We're going to have sex.

Rachel watches me carefully as we eat lunch, her eyes never straying too far from my mouth, or from my fingers. All things I intend to have on - and in - her body before the night is over. I let out a breath as that thought comes to mind, and she catches my expression.

"What are you thinking about?" Rachel asks as we're clearing our plates and containers of the Thai food she bought for lunch. It's a safe option, I realise, and I appreciate her that bit more for it.

"I think we both know what I'm thinking about, Berry," I say seriously. "I hope you've eaten enough, because you're going to need all the energy you can get."

She swallows audibly, and I watch the movement of her throat with dark eyes. This entire day is going to be a test of my patience, but I would rather deal with the tension of anticipation than anything else. Because, yeah, we're going to have sex.

I clear my throat. "I'm going to shower," I say.

Before I can leave, her fingers close around my wrist, stopping me. "Quinn," she murmurs.

"Hmm?"

"Please don't be nervous," she says as if she can see it all over my face. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

I let out a shaky breath. "I think I might," I whisper.

As gently as possible, she presses a kiss to the skin just in front of my ear. "Go on then," she says; "get clean." After a beat, she adds, "Just for me to get you dirty all over again."

For the first time, I seriously doubt if I'm actually going to survive this night.

* * *

That doubt grows exponentially when Rachel walks around in just her matching underwear for an obscenely long time after her own shower. She's taunting me, I know, and it's working. I don't really see the point of her actually putting on clothes because, dammit, I intend to get her naked.

But, not yet.

By some silent agreement, we're waiting until the sun sets. I'm not sure why, and I definitely wouldn't be able to explain how we both know that's what we're doing, but it is and we are. It makes it easier to get through the afternoon. Rachel sings for two hours while I work on my homework, and then we catch a nap. I can't help thinking that this is probably some of the last, uninterrupted sleep we're going to get until, well -

 _You know_.

It's after dinner that the air changes between us. Part of my plan includes a romantic dinner. I barely eat, really, because I'm nervous and I don't want to be able to feel my food in my gut while we're... otherwise occupied. I leave Rachel in the living room after we've cleared the table and she's blatantly leered at me as I washed the dishes. I have a bedroom to prepare, and I get started right away. As cliche as it is, I set up candles, put on soothing background music and... lay out pink and red rose petals on the floor and end of the bed.

The moment I step back to look at my handiwork... I panic.

Oh, God.

It's too much.

She's going to laugh.

Jesus, even _I'm_ laughing.

 _What the hell is wrong with you, Fabray_?

I just stand in the middle of Rachel's bedroom floor, staring at the fruits of my labours in both bewilderment and disbelief. The dim lighting is heady, and the scented candles are making me feel a little dizzy. I'm not sure how to tone it down, if I should, or even if I want to. I must stand there for too many minutes because there's a knock at Rachel's door, and my girlfriend walks into the room.

"Quinn," Rachel murmurs, dragging me out of my... space-out. She places a soft hand against the small of my back, intending to soothe me, but it just makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. "Baby, did you get lost in your head?" she asks, almost reverently.

My shoulders sag. "I just - " I start. "I just really love you."

She frowns, clearly confused. "And I love you." she returns anyway. "Like, crazy amounts. It's actually ridiculous."

"I want to be with you more than anything," I tell her. "I just - "

"Talk to me," she urges, her tone soothing and sincere. "We don't have to do anything, Quinn. We can just be who we've always been."

"I want to give this to you," I say. "I don't want to mess this up."

"You won't," she says. "You _can't_." Then: "I don't want you to do this because you think you have to. We're not in that kind of relationship. I've learned my lesson. There will be no more pressure from me, okay?"

"I'm not feeling pressured."

Rachel sighs, clearly at a loss.

I don't know what to tell her.

Her hand slides up my back, stopping at my neck. She massages gently, and I relax into her touch. "I know this is probably far off or something, but does your apprehension have anything to do with... Finn?" she asks carefully, almost warily. "Or, possibly, with Beth?" She smiles slightly, almost bashfully. "Because, as you so wonderfully pointed out to me, you and I 'don't really have all the necessities for conception.'"

I let out an unexpected laugh, but I do feel something deep in my stomach uncoil. Huh?

She must sense my body relax because she smiles winningly. _Smug little menace_. "Sex isn't going to make me run, Quinn," she says. "Besides the fact that I'm done with that, even if it's horrible - which it won't be, by the way - I'm not going anywhere. We have the rest of our lives, okay? I'm not giving you up for anything. I want nothing more and nothing less than who you are."

I take in a steadying breath and release it slowly.

This is the moment.

When Rachel realises it, her hand falls away, giving me a moment of reprieve. "The room is perfect," she whispers. " _You_ are per - " she stops suddenly, smiling sheepishly as she recalls my stance on that particular word. "May I say that you are perfect in my eyes, even though you're a work in progress?"

I grin at her, relaxing that bit more. "Semantics, huh?"

"I love you."

I lean down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. "Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you let me make love to you?"

She lets out a puff of breath, and then nods her head. "Please."

We move to stand in front of each other, our fronts barely touching. The air feels charged, as if even the gas particles know that something monumental is about to happen. I mean, this _is_ a big deal, right? We've spent so long trying to get to this very moment, and it's both terrifying and exhilarating. I feel as if I've been waiting for her my entire life.

I've been waiting _all_ my lives.

"Rachel," I breathe, reaching out to link my left pinkie with her right one. "Are you sure?" I ask, because I have to ask. I mean, I know she said she wants this but that was last week and a lot can happen in one week. I want this to be special for her. For _us_ , I mean, because this is also kind of my first time… with a girl.

With Rachel Berry.

If that isn't enough to make a person's breath catch, I don't know what is. Just _thinking_ about it is making me feel all kinds of things. If tonight goes the way we both want it to, it's a step in our relationship neither of us can come back from, and I can barely bring myself to care. I'm not the one who's a virgin here, and I kind of hate that I gave _that_ to Finn when I could have given it to Rachel Berry, who is now looking at me with such a look of understanding that all my fidgeting movements slow until they grow completely still.

She's just so beautiful, her face soft and open, and her eyes are shining with all the love and affection in the world. She's looking at me as if she really sees me and, yes, it makes me nervous, but she's never looked at me any other way.

We're both ready.

"I'm sure," she says, rocking forward and pressing a soft kiss to my lips. "I've been sure for a while, Quinn. I want this. I want you." She drags her top row of teeth over her bottom lip. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"No," I rush to say. "I just - I want to make sure you're ready. We've been waiting a long time for this."

"I know," she says, lifting and then sliding her right hand over the skin of my cheek. "And I think it's a good thing we've waited as long as we have."

"To make sure we're both sufficiently sexually frustrated," I say, trying to lighten the mood because, all of a sudden, it feels heavy.

She smiles warmly, shaking her head. "To make sure we're both on the same page."

I place a hand over hers on my cheek and turn my head to kiss her palm. "We're definitely on the same page, Rachel," I say, my voice low and raspy.

She swallows audibly. "I love you, Quinn."

"I love you, too," I return, automatic and true. I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life. "Now, let me show you." I tilt my head down to kiss her.

Our mouths move slowly at first, almost sealing a promise of sorts. She's so soft and warm, and I wrap my arms around her waist to bring her closer. It's almost a settling kiss. Well, it would be if I couldn't feel her heart beating at an alarming rate in her chest. If mine wasn't matching hers for pace; I would worry she was going to pass out. We're both going to pass out.

Santana would never let us hear the end of _that_.

I drag my lips away from her mouth, and along the line of her jaw until I'm gently sucking on the skin beneath her ear. It's a particularly sensitive spot, and her hands immediately move to my shoulders, as if she's bracing herself. My own hands are on her hips, holding her close. For the longest time, it's where they stay, keeping us both grounded as my lips move and my tongue tastes her skin.

Making my decision, my fingers curl around the fabric of her t-shirt, and I pull up. She lifts her arms in compliance and I rid her of the garment. Her bra goes next, almost immediately. I mean, why wait, right? Under my gaze, her skin is gloriously tanned, practically calling out to me to be touched, with hands and with lips, so I bend to kiss her throat, feeling the erratic beating of her heart through my lips. Her skin is warm, _hot_ , burning me as we continue this dance of… foreplay. We don't even need it. I've been ready since January.

Since December, maybe.

I force myself to move slowly. There's the possibility of control running away from both of us, but I want this to be memorable in all the best ways. We have to take our time. It has to be good.

I work on undressing her further, and she loses patience with _my_ state of undress enough to start tugging on my clothes. I'm not complaining and, before I know it, we're both completely naked, just standing there on her carpet, piles of clothes around us, soft music in the background and flickering candlelight making her eyes dance.

"Lie down," I murmur.

With a final peck to my swollen lips, she moves to sit on the edge of the bed and waits. When her eyes meet mine, I know I'm in trouble. I've been in trouble since day one. "Aren't you coming with me?"

I think I can offer her this control, and I climb onto the bed, leaning back against her pillows and watching her. The air is practically sizzling with anticipation and sexual energy. One of us is going to have to move, and it's not going to be me. Instead, I take a moment to appreciate her naked form, my eyes raking over every swell, mound and curve of her perfect, toned body. "Mine," I find myself saying, and she smiles seductively at me as she begins crawling her way up the bed. "Mine," I repeat, a hint of disbelief in my tone.

"That's right," she says, coming to a stop just between my legs, her dark eyes on mine. "I'm yours, Quinn. I'm yours, and you're mine."

"I belong to you," I echo.

"You always have."

It's enough to get me moving, and I slip a hand behind her neck to pull her towards me, meeting her in a deep kiss. She moans when our tongues meet, her hands sliding onto my thighs and making any coherent thought _really_ difficult. I have to pay attention to what I'm doing because I have to make sure it's good. I have to take care of her. It's one thing I can be sure to accomplish that maybe a boy wouldn't. Using my hands or my mouth - or even both - I _am_ going to make Rachel Berry come.

Now, I've seen her naked before. I've touched lots of naked parts, but today is the first day I truly get to worship her body. For today, she gets to lie there and I get to explore with fingertips and lips and love. There's just so much skin, and she's so smooth to the touch. Her muscles dance under my ministrations, sensitive and trembling, but I don't stop.

I can't.

I wouldn't be able to, if anyone other than her asked me to.

As gently as I can, I nudge her with my knee to get her to lie down on her back, slightly propped up by the pillows. She goes without protest, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen. Honestly, she's never looked sexier.

"You are so beautiful," I find myself saying.

She reaches for me, and I immediately go, settling my naked body against hers. I swear, every spot we're touching is burning. _I'm_ on fire, and I've never felt this good in my entire life, and it's all to do with Rachel Berry. So, worship is what I do. I kiss every inch of her face, eliciting giggles from her before I even think to move further south. I think her neck is probably my favourite part of her body... well, besides her legs and her mouth and her hair and _just everything_.

I travel down her body, spending a little too much time with her breasts and paying attention to her perfect hips and strong calves with both my hands and my lips. This _has_ to be God's image. There's no other explanation for the sheer perfection that is Rachel Berry.

"Please," she pants, practically squirming.

I look up at her through hooded eyes, a predatory smirk on my face. Without seeming too eager, I slide my hand along her thigh on the way to my destination. I can feel her eyes on me, studying me, watching for the moment she has me exactly where she wants me. My hand ghosts over her centre, feeling the heat of her and forcing myself not to lose control. I kiss her thigh, smiling at the way her skin erupts in goosebumps.

She's ready and waiting.

I mean, I _know_ what I'm looking for, but this is new territory for me.

This is _Rachel_.

 _I've_ never touched her before - not in this intimate way.

"Quinn," she says, and she's practically pleading. God, how can I even think of denying her?

I can tease her later.

My fingers sink into wet flesh, just feeling and learning. Finding. She moans at the contact, and she closes her eyes. This is happening. We're doing this. When we're both ready, I ask the question again.

"Are you sure?"

The hurried shifting of her hips towards my hand is answer enough.

I slide one finger inside of her, closing my eyes at the sensation of her wet heat all around me. Her hips lift once again, and I start to move, in and out. It's when she lets out a guttural moan and hisses my name that I add a second finger.

"Oh, my God," she says, breathless. "Quinn, oh - oh - "

I pump my fingers a bit faster, my thumb locating and then pressing against her bundle of nerves. I can feel the tension building and, just from her breathy pants, I know she's close.

Very close.

Today, I'm all about the pleasing, and I curl my fingers and flick my thumb against her clit.

She falls apart immediately, my name leaving her lips in a gasp as her climax rolls over her, her muscles tightening and her hands gripping the sheets in fierce fists. Just feeling her muscles contract around my fingers sends a rush of arousal straight through me, but I'm not done with Rachel.

Nowhere close.

She's barely come down from her first high when I - with little preamble - replace my thumb with my tongue, flicking once, twice, and resuming the movement of my fingers. I flatten my tongue against her nub, licking slowly and humming to myself, because _this is happening_. My face is literally buried between Rachel Berry's legs, and she tastes just as good as I imagined.

Better.

She's just recovered from her first orgasm when she's coming again, her entire body shaking more violently than before and her thighs squeezing my head. There is honestly nowhere else in this great big world I would rather be. I let her down slowly, and then pull out and away, leaving us both cold. I crawl up her body, pressing kisses up her abdomen until I find her mouth once more. My eyes are closed, and I keep replaying the sight of her double orgasm in my mind. God, I hope I never forget.

Rachel's arms slide around my waist, and she holds me against her. "Wow," she murmurs in my ear.

I chuckle throatily.

There's a long minute of soft breathing and thumping heartbeats before Rachel is moving, gently nudging me off her and forcing me to roll onto my back beside her. Now, Rachel has always been a good explorer, and those hands of hers do just that, working my body until my breathing is heavy and laboured. It feels as if she's touching me everywhere, her wandering hands and hot, delicious mouth turning me to putty.

She cups one soft breast in her hand, thumb dusting over my nipple, while her mouth latches onto the other. Like me, she spends ages there, alternating between my breasts and forcing my back to arch at the sensations. It's never felt like this before, with her or with anyone else. This is all new, and it's driving me wild with _want_.

When her eyes meet mine, we both know what's going to happen. Keeping her left hand on my breast, her right one slides down my body, one destination in mind. She looks equal parts nervous and confident, and I keep my mouth tightly shut to stop myself from startling her with the sounds that are threatening to erupt from my mouth. That plan falls apart the moment her fingers stroke over my folds, and my head tilts back as I let out a shaky breath.

Her name leaves my mouth in a long moan when she finds my clit, her finger drawing slow circles and drawing me closer and closer to the edge. I think it's a good thing I went first because now Rachel knows _exactly_ what to do - though, I imagine she's known for a while - which she does. She doesn't even start with the pretence of one finger, easily sliding two into me and filling me completely. I _feel_ it. I feel all of her, and the pleasure of her movement is overwhelming.

"Rachel," I pant, my voice little more than a rushed whisper. "Rach, yes, oh, god, yes." I grip the sheets the same way she did, trying and failing to keep my hips still. "Yes, yes. Rachel, Rachel, Rachel, I'm - I'm - ohhh."

I shut my eyes tightly as the crescendo in my belly _explodes_ , sending fireworks right through my entire body. They go off for a unit of time that feels like _hours_ , and I can't even calm down because Rachel hasn't moved from... inside. Instead, she gently blows against my sensitive flesh, and I can practically feel her smug smile.

"Can - can I taste you?" she asks, and I open one tired eye. She looks so… excited. Eager, even. How has _anyone_ in this world ever denied her anything?

I open my other eye. "You know you don't have to," I find myself saying.

"I want to."

And, if ever I thought her mouth was supremely talented before... well, let's just say I get proven _right_.

After, she breathes out long and slow as she moves back up. "I understand it now," she says.

"Hmm?"

"Before, remember I said I didn't fully understand the appeal of sex… with another person, at least, but I get it now," she says, rolling onto her side and propping herself up to look at me. "I _totally_ get it now."

Despite myself, I grin. "Oh, yeah?"

"Definitely."

I think back to that same conversation she's referring to, and I bite my bottom lip. "It was fireworks and then some," I say. "It really _is_ the person, isn't it?"

She nods. "Or, I'm just a better lover than Finn is."

"There's also that."

* * *

"We're like hot chocolate and marshmallows… you're hot, and I want to be on top of you."

She lets out a groan, an arm rising up to cover her eyes. "I thought they were supposed to stop once..." she trails off, forcing herself not to blush.

"Once I made love to you?" I finish for her, the smirk clear to hear in my voice. "Once you _came_ at my hand? Once I got to taste you?"

She giggles softly but, ultimately, ignores me. "I thought they stopped."

I roll onto my side, my eyes studying her glorious profile. She looks wonderfully content, and I don't think I could ever get enough of this. Of _her_. "I changed my mind."

"Why?"

"The pleasure has gone to my brain, obviously," I murmur. "This is really _your_ fault."

She grins at me. "You make me so happy."

"I love you."

There's barely a beat before she's rolling onto me. "Show me."

* * *

On Sunday evening, I spend a lot of my time in church coming to terms with my feelings about the changes in Rachel's and my physical relationship. It's not about the _act_ itself. I'd probably turn beet red if I were actually to think about it sitting in this pew surrounded by all these unaware churchgoers. It's more about what it means.

In terms of the Bible, I've committed one of those ultimate sins, and I feel... nothing.

Absolutely no guilt.

And, really, it's always going to be about what _I_ feel when it comes to reconciling my faith and my love for Rachel. I feel immensely proud of myself and just how far I've come; how far _we've_ both come.

We still have a ways to go, I'm sure, but I'm just relieved we're finally heading in the correct direction.

* * *

"God, you look so fucking happy," Santana says; "it's actually disgusting."

I run a hand over my damp hair, chuckling lowly. "I _am_ happy," I tell her. "I've - I've never felt like this before, San."

She studies me carefully, still trying to catch her breath after running through the last routine of the day. The choreography has gone one full week without any of us having to make any necessary tweaks, so I'm feeling a lot more settled about it. At least it's one less thing to worry about. "This is it for you, isn't it?" she says.

I nod. "It's always been."

Shaking her head in amusement, she throws an arm around my shoulders as we head to our bags. "Okay then, let's pack up all this shit and get you home to your lady."

"Better words have never been uttered."

She smirks. "Not even 'Oh my God, Quinn, I'm _coming_?'"

I flush instantly, my mind automatically recalling those exact words coming out of Rachel's panting mouth. I honestly can't wait to hear them again.

Santana laughs out loud at my obvious expression. "Oh, boy," she says knowingly. "Rachel Berry has created a monster."

I'm inclined to agree with her, but the sound of my vibrating phone in my gym bag draws my attention and I bend to retrieve it. Practice has run a little late, and I just know it's Rachel calling. I'm not wrong, and my grin splits my face when I answer, barely getting my greeting out. I studiously ignore Santana's whipping action.

"Quinn?"

"Hey, Rach," I say. "I'm just leaving practice now. I should be there in - "

"Quinn?" she repeats, and all my movements grind to a sudden halt. I don't recognise the tone of her voice. It's devoid of all emotion, sombre and solemn in a way that Rachel's voice never is. Her voice is usually rich and emotive. Her voice practically sings, even when she's talking.

"Rachel?"

She lets out a small cry.

"Oh, Rachel," I breathe. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Her cries turn into a full-blown sob, and I stiffen. Oh.

 _Oh_.

"Okay," I say. "I'm coming, okay? I'm on my way."


	48. forty-eight

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _'when,' is not something you ask someone when the bodies of their aunt.  
_ _uncle.  
_ _friends.  
_ _first love.  
_ _cannot be found._

 _._

The first day is the easiest, I think. There's shock and a certain numbness that's almost welcoming. It's definitely better than this. Whatever I'm feeling right now; I would give anything not to be feeling. But, alas, I have no choice in the matter because -

Aunt Marianne is dead.

Just, gone.

For forever.

The call was made to my Daddy's phone while he was at work, and he came home to tell me and my Dad, all the while in a daze. I don't remember much of the conversation but I don't have to. It's not going to change anything. Aunt Marianne is no longer of this Earth.

The second day is probably the worst because, once it sinks in, there's no going back. The grief hits and there's no stopping it. I think I've been crying ever since, caught in a whirlwind of painful emotions. I don't even know if I _will_ move through the five stages of grief. Really, at this moment, it feels as if they're more than the requisite _five_. And, even if they are, they feel as if they're going to last a lifetime.

I sigh heavily, my shoulders slumping. I'm exhausted because I've had very little sleep in the last seventy-two hours and I've been up and about helping put together this funeral. Majority of the service was already decided by Aunt Marianne herself, and the nursing home has really come through with the preparations. She deserves the best sending-off we can offer her.

Quinn's been really amazing with that, actually. I think it helps her to have things to do, and she handles all of it really well: fielding phone calls, passing on funeral details and even showing people to their pews when they arrive at the church. She's always within sight, her eyes meeting mine every time I look up, as if she can feel my eyes on her. I don't know whom she's trying to reassure, but I love her that bit more for it.

As it is, I'm seated in the first pew, staring straight at the large print of Aunt Marianne's smiling face. She looks young in the picture, vibrant and full of life. It's difficult to imagine there's such sadness and loss behind those shining eyes. It's amazing what people can hide.

There are people all around me, quietly whispering to one another as we wait for the service to begin. It's supposed to be a short one - Aunt Marianne planned it that way - and in just under seventy minutes' time, she's going to be six feet under. I let out a shuddering breath at the mere _thought_.

Five minutes ago, Quinn's hand was in mine, but it's since been replaced by Brittany's when the Head Cheerio disappeared behind the altar. Even though she's putting on a brave face, Quinn seems slightly uncomfortable with the church we're in, but she's handling it well. It's Columbus and, despite the relative _gayness_ all around us, Aunt Marianne is well-loved and remembered fondly by this community. We weren't going to have the service anywhere else, even though I sometimes wish we did.

When Quinn reemerges, she's standing with the Reverend. He's older than Reverend Jimmy, African-American and shorter than Quinn in a way that makes me smile. Quinn's eyes meet mine for a moment, and she seems startled by my amusement. If she only knew.

When it's time, Quinn returns to my side and Brittany slides further down the pew to make space for her. She sits on my right side, her hand immediately slipping into mine, and my Dad occupies my left. Beside him in my Daddy, and I can't even bring myself to look at him. The devastation on his face is almost too much for me to handle. There are things children should never have to see, and that's the tears of our parents.

I've only ever been to one funeral before - Coach Sylvester's sister - and this one is just as... beautiful. The sermon is poignant and moving, and the chosen hymns make my heart both hurt and soar. It's when the Reverend - a Michael Woodard - invites the Glee Club to the altar that I grow tense. What? Quinn just squeezes my hand - which feels like a kiss to my cheek - and rises to her feet. In fact, every member does, and they move to stand at the altar, right in front of Aunt Marianne's coffin. All I can really do is sit and stare, the rest of the world falling away.

For the longest time, they're all perfectly still, eyes forward and expressions grim. I know this is all Quinn's doing, but I can't stop how suddenly _emotional_ I feel. This is Glee. Even though we lock horns from time to time, they _are_ a part of my family, and I'm just so grateful they're here.

When the music starts, I automatically reach for my Dad's hand. Quinn is the one to sing the first lines of Robbie Robertson's poignant _Shine Your Light_ , and the tears immediately stream down my cheeks.

" _The cry of the city like a siren's song, wailing over the rooftops the whole night long. Saw a shooting star like a diamond in the sky. Must be someone's soul passing by_."

Kurt sings next, and I close my eyes as the group harmonises behind him, in soft hums and quiet runs. " _These are the streets where we used to run where your Papa's from. These are the days where you become what you become. These are the streets where the story's told. The truth unfolds, darkness settles in, oh-oh-ah_."

The entire group sings the chorus together, their voices carrying through the entire church and lodging right in my hurting chest, rendering me speechless. " _Shine your light down on me. Lift me up, so I can see. Mmm. Shine your light when you're gone. Give me the strength to carry on, carry on_."

Tina sings the next lines with Artie. " _Don't wanna be a hero, just an everyday man. Trying to do the job the very best he can. But now it's like living on borrowed time. Out on the rim, over the line_." And then Santana and Blaine take over. " _Always tempting fate like a game of chance. Never wanna stick around to the very last dance. Sometimes, I stumble and take a hard fall. Lose hold your grip off the wall_."

Once again, the chorus is all of them, and I feel their eyes on me. I can barely see them through my tears. " _Shine your light down on me. Lift me up, so I can see. Mmm. Shine your light when you're gone. Give me the strength to carry on, carry on_."

Finn sings the next lines, and my heart breaks for the changed pronouns. Oh, Aunt Marianne. " _I thought I saw_ her _walking by the side of the road, maybe trying to find_ her _way home._ She's _here but not here;_ she's _gone but not gone. Just hope_ she _knows if I get lost..._ "

This is the first time I truly appreciate the acoustics of the church, and the sound of the last chorus fills the entire space, loud and carrying. " _Shine your light down on me. Lift me up, so I can see. Mmm. Shine your light when you're gone. Give me the strength to carry on, carry on_."

Mercedes and Noah carry them through the end of the song, the last few lines rolling in and out of one another. It's absolutely perfect, for this exact moment and for Aunt Marianne. I just know she would love it, and I suspect Quinn does too.

" _Shine your light_."

" _Shine your light_."

" _Down on me_."

" _Down on me_."

" _Lift me up_."

" _Down on me_."

" _Shine your light_."

" _Shine your light_."

The words goes on and on until they fade into silence, and the entire church is filled with quiet sniffles and heavy sobs. My Dad's hand is gripping mine tightly, and I try not to look at my Daddy because I can barely handle my own tears without having to see his. It's too much. It's all just too much, and I completely break down when Quinn returns to my side. I hide my face in the crook of her neck and she lets me, her left hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. I'm just relieved she's not recoiling under the obvious scrutiny we must be under.

"I love you," she whispers in my ear. "I love you. I love you. You're okay. You're okay. I love you. I love you."

I pay attention to only her words and, as a result, the end of the service is a surprise to me. Quinn nudges me gently, and we rise to our feet as the pallbearers carry out Aunt Marianne's coffin. All I can really do is stand stock-still and watch, Quinn's hand in mine. I absently think I'm hurting her with the tightness of my grip, but she doesn't say anything and I love her just that bit more for it.

I'm also certain I would probably end up in the middle of traffic if Quinn wasn't leading me. All I know is there's a car - Santana's driving - and then we're at the cemetery and we're huddled around an empty hole and _this is happening_. It turns into a blur after that. People say words and other people pat me on the shoulder. There's dirt and flowers and more words until the Reverend dismisses us.

It's when a certain tension falls over us that I look up, catching sight of my Daddy. He's... pale, and his eyes are shockingly wide. I'm sufficiently out of it that I miss the signs. I miss the way my Daddy's fists clench or the way my Dad puts a hand around his forearm to... calm him.

I miss the strange man's approach.

Other people are just clearing the gravesite, but we're lingering for our final goodbyes. And, it seems, we're not the only ones. So, when the foreign man does make his way over to Aunt Marianne's resting place, the air practically crackles with tension.

My Daddy rises to his full height. "What are you doing here?" he growls, and my head immediately snaps up. _What_? "What are you doing here?" he asks again, sounding even more hostile.

"I had to come," the man says. He's older, probably around Aunt Marianne's age - perhaps has a few years on her - and there's something oddly and startlingly familiar about him. I think it's in the way he stands, his strong shoulders high and his head lifted. Maybe it's the set of his jaw, or his eyes. Whatever it is, I catch on too late.

My Dad suddenly turns toward me and Quinn. "Quinn," he says lowly, his grip on my Daddy tightening as he tries to surge forward. "Take Rachel back to the home."

Quinn hesitates for just a moment, her eyes darting about.

"Now," he says, and there's no room for questions.

Quinn nods once, slides an arm around my waist and starts to lead me away with Santana and Brittany flanking us. We're only a few metres away when my Daddy _explodes_.

"She wouldn't want you here!" he screams, and I strain to look back but Quinn stops me, tucking me even further into her side. "Don't you come any closer!" he yells, and I can hear the sobs in his voice. I bury my face against Quinn's shoulder and she puts a hand over my ear, as if she's trying to protect me from hearing whatever is happening behind us.

It's not working.

"Get away from her! You've stayed away for this long already; why should today be any different?"

"LeRoy, please?"

"No! I don't want you here, and neither would she!"

"She's my family," the man says, and he sounds just as broken as my Daddy does. "She's my sister. I had to come."

My Daddy laughs darkly. "You know _nothing_ about family."

I shut my eyes tightly, and Quinn picks up the pace. We get to the car quickly and Quinn gets me into the backseat, immediately closing the door. Santana doesn't waste any time getting the car started and pulling away.

I know I shouldn't, but I can't help myself. I look back, and I immediately wish I didn't... because there are dark eyes staring right back at me.

Foreign, yet familiar.

* * *

"Are you two going to be all right?" Santana asks, her tone of voice hinting at her concern as she pulls into our driveway. The trip from Columbus after the wake at the nursing home was largely made in silence. I even dozed a bit against Quinn. I'm just so exhausted.

Quinn glances at me for any sort of confirmation, but I can't bring myself to say anything. "We will be," she eventually answers for both of us, sliding a hand onto Santana's shoulder. "Thank you for today, and for this entire week," she murmurs. "Both of you."

Brittany reaches out to touch Quinn's cheek. "Call if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay."

Santana's gaze meets Quinn's, and the two of them share a silent conversation that ends with Quinn nodding her head. Whatever they've exchanged, I don't know, but Quinn just prompts me to get out of the car and we say our farewells to our friends. Quinn closes the door, her hand sliding into mine, and then leads the way towards the house. She takes out her own keys to unlock the front door, but we both stop dead at the sight of a human being sitting on the front steps.

"Kurt?" I squeak.

His eyes are bloodshot from his obvious tears, and he looks dangerously dishevelled. "Hey," he croaks.

Quinn steps towards him. "You okay?" she asks as gently as she can manage.

"No."

She swallows nervously, glancing back at me. "Uh, do you want to come inside?"

All he does is nod, and Quinn finally gets the door open, ushering both me and Kurt into the house. He immediately goes into the room but I stay with her when she pauses to wave to Santana and Brittany, which prompts them to drive off, before she closes the door and gives me her full attention. "What do you need?" she asks softly.

I look at her face for the longest time, taking in the concern and openness and love she's freely displaying. "I think I need to talk to Kurt," I say and my own voice sounds hoarse to my own ears.

She nods in agreement. It's doubtful she would refute whatever I said, anyway. "I'll make some tea."

It's when she turns to go to the kitchen that I grab hold of her hand, stopping her. Her eyes are wide when she looks back at me, a question on her lips. "I love you," I say before she can speak, and then press a chaste kiss to her lips.

She offers me a tired smile when I pull away. "I love you, too," she says, almost automatically. "Now, go see what's bothering our little Hummel."

I nod once, feeling marginally better, and then go into the living room where Kurt is sitting stock-still on the couch. His back is ramrod straight and his gaze is levelled on the floor. I don't know exactly what's wrong - though, I do have an idea - but the sight of him is heartbreaking. I move to sit beside him, saying and doing nothing. As much as I want to offer him a hand in comfort, I know he has to be the one to make the first move.

We sit in absolute silence for the longest time. Quinn even brings us our tea, sets our cups on the table in front of us, kisses us both on the tops of our heads, and then leaves us alone. I hear her go upstairs and close a door - probably mine - and still Kurt hasn't said anything.

I manage to get through half of my tea before he finally speaks.

"Blaine broke up with me."

Despite having a suspicion, I still suck in a surprised breath at Kurt's confirmation. "When?" I immediately ask.

"After the funeral."

My eyes widen. "Wh - but - wh - "

Despite himself, Kurt chuckles at my reaction. "Shit timing, isn't it?"

I don't even know what to say.

"Or... the perfect timing," he offers. "It takes something like this for people to gain perspective." He leans forward slightly to lift his own cup of - probably lukewarm, by now - tea and takes a cautious sip. "It was when he dropped me off at home," he says slowly. "The entire drive was made in silence and I think he was trying to figure out how to do it and what to say because, when we pulled into the driveway, he just started to talk, and he definitely had a lot to say."

My hand comes to rest on my chest. "Oh, Kurt," I breathe.

He sets his cup down and straightens once more. "I mean, I get it," he says. "I'm heartbroken, but I get it. I listened to that service too, you know, and I heard everything that was said. Life is really short, Rachel. It's just one of those things. Everything that's been happening with Quinn and now with your aunt; it just makes it so much clearer. It seems Blaine and I are seeing clearly for the first time in a long time."

I bite my bottom lip, _hard_.

"We were just sitting in his car and he was talking about how LeRoy's words really struck something with him... about how the light of life should never be dimmed." He chuckles humourlessly. "It's about... timing, isn't it?"

At this, I have to nod.

"This just isn't our time," he says. "At least, that much we both agree on... which doesn't make it hurt any less."

"Oh, Kurt," I murmur, reaching out for him. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and he falls into me, sobbing into the crook of my neck. The two of us just sit there, offering comfort and taking strength from each other until his shaking subsides.

"I'm sorry," he says into my neck, and I tighten my arms around him. "And, thank you."

"No matter what happens in our lives, Kurt; just know that I'll always be here, okay," I say. "Both me and Quinn."

He chuckles lightly, pulling out of my embrace. "You're a package deal, huh?"

"Indeed, we are."

He wipes at the evidence of his tears with the pads of his fingers. "Gosh, I must look a terrifying sight."

I can't help teasing him, just to see him smile. "Well, _I_ wasn't going to say anything."

He gently slaps my knee in amused admonishment. "Some friend you are."

I shrug. "I think you look handsome."

"I _am_ handsome."

"Modest, too."

This time, he actually laughs and I mentally pat myself on the back. "What about you?" he suddenly asks, softly and carefully, wiping at his eyes once more. "How are _you_?"

It's a loaded question, but even I know I would be doing far worse under different circumstances. I've had time to come to terms with losing Aunt Marianne, and I even managed to say my goodbyes... numerous times. I also have Quinn, which makes all the difference in the world. Even a blind person would be able to see that. "I think I'm going to be okay," I finally say.

"Yeah?"

I manage a smile. "Yeah."

He reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "How are you feeling about Monday?"

I immediately tense but he doesn't release me. "I - I think I'm fine," I practically whisper, too afraid to say it too loud. "I actually decided to change my original audition song."

He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh?"

"I'm going to sing _My Man_ ," I say, relaxing slightly. "For Aunt Marianne."

At this, he frowns, clearly not understanding.

"She loved a man _so much_ that she couldn't see any semblance of a life beyond him," I say. "She loved him in a way I don't think I ever could have understood until - " I stop abruptly, wary of bringing up _relationships_ with him so soon after the end of his.

He smiles in understanding, saying nothing.

"I just want to honour her," I say. "I want to honour her love for him, and I think it's the right decision to make. For her, and for myself."

"I hesitate to ask, but what does Quinn think?"

I can't help my small giggle. "I think, if she had her way; I would be changing _all_ the pronouns."

Kurt laughs. "I can only imagine."

"But, she knows," I say. "Of course, she knows. Right?"

"Oh, honey," he murmurs with a mischievous glint in his eye; "I think we all know."

* * *

When Kurt deems himself okay to drive, I don't fight him when he decides to leave. I just hug him tightly, tell him to call me, and then let him go. I think he wants to be alone, anyway, now that the reality of the breakup is sinking in.

From the front steps, I watch him pull away, staying perfectly still as his car disappears, and then step back into the house. I lock the door, go into the living room to gather our unfinished cups of tea and take them into the kitchen. I leave them in the sink because Quinn would probably castrate me if I were to take the opportunity to do dishes away from her. It's her _thing_ , and I wouldn't dream of taking it away from her.

I spend a few minutes leaning against the counter, my mind empty and my heart hurting. Today has been a God-awful day that's also been painfully beautiful. Breathing a sigh, I eventually push off the counter and make my way towards the stairs. I climb them slowly, and pause on the landing when I hear muffled sounds from behind Quinn's slightly-ajar door.

It's Quinn.

Talking to someone on the phone.

"No, I think we'll be okay here," she's saying. "I will, yes. You just take care of him, okay?" She lets out an amused breath. "I'm pretty sure I'm a better cook than you are, Hiram. I promise I'll make sure Rachel eats."

Even I crack a smile at that.

"I know I am," she says. "Sure, I'll remind her to call you later. Be careful, okay? Tell him we love him." She chuckles. "Yes. Just him. I'm kidding. We sometimes love you a little bit, too."

I step closer to the door, just wanting to be closer to her.

"It's okay. She'll understand, I promise." She sighs tiredly, and I pause. I can just imagine her rubbing her temple. "I want to do this. It's my job, you know, to take care of her. The same way it's yours to take care of LeRoy. It's been a tough day for them both, so you do what you have to, and I'll be here. I'm _here_ , okay?"

Tears pool in my eyes, and I step forward once more.

"I'll tell her," Quinn says. "I will. I'll check and then text you. Okay. Bye bye. Love you."

I freeze once more because this is all a little too much to take in. I'm tempted to retreat, but then the door is opening and I come face to face with a startled Quinn Fabray.

"Rachel," she squeaks in surprise. "Hey."

"Hi," I murmur.

She exits the room immediately, stepping into my space but not touching me. "I just got off the phone with Hiram," she says. "He told me to tell you he's sorry they're not here and that they both love you very much. Also, just for the sake of it, you should know that I love you, too."

I surge forward, throwing my arms around her and crush her body to mine. Her surprised gasp is adorable, and she wastes no time returning my embrace. She's spent a lot of the five days since we learned about Aunt Marianne _holding_ me, in sleep and while I'm awake. I don't want to think it but she's one of the only things helping me keep it together. I would be a hopeless mess without her.

I pull back slightly, lightly kissing her chin. "How is Daddy?"

She tenses immediately and, for a moment, I think she's going to lie to me. She doesn't. "Not good," she confesses, nuzzling my hair. "They're still in Columbus. He won't leave until he's sure, umm - " she stops.

"His _father_ ," I say for her, frowning at the word.

"Yeah," she says. "He won't leave until he's sure _he's_ gone. He's, umm, convinced that he has to protect her from him."

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against Quinn's cheekbone. "Did Dad at least pick up some ice for his hand?"

"He did, yes," she assures me. "He's taking care of LeRoy."

"And you're taking care of me."

Quinn pulls back to look into my eyes. "I know you don't like it when I use my mental tally of what we've done for each other in this relationship, but I still believe the scales are severely unbalanced," she says. "So, yes, I'm here and I'm going to take care of you because I want to and I love you and I hate to see you hurting."

I can't resist pulling her into a kiss. It's a slow, steady one, and I try to tell her how grateful I am for her and all she is. We haven't _done_ anything since Monday and, really, I think that 'sex' is just always going to be a _thing_ for us.

Quinn pulls away first and presses a gently kiss to the tip of my nose. "Are you hungry?" she asks.

I almost smile. "Not really."

"Do you want to talk?"

"About?"

"LeRoy's father."

I suck in a breath. She's, of course, refraining from calling the man my 'grandfather' for a reason. "I don't know if there is anything to talk about."

Her arms tighten around me, drawing me closer, even as we stand in the middle of the corridor. "It must have been a surprise to see him," she says, almost conversationally. She's been spending too much time with her therapist, really.

"Well, it seems I'm not the only one who was surprised," I say, and my tone is cold and flat.

She rests her cheek against mine. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

I sigh, leaning into her touch that bit more. "I'm calling a rain check on this conversation," I say.

"Oh?"

"I don't want to think about it today," I say. "Today is about Aunt Marianne, and I don't want anything that happened today to take away from that." It's the first time I realise she hasn't asked me about Kurt, and I pull back slightly, eyeing her curiously.

"What?" she asks innocently.

"Did you already call Blaine?"

At this, she flushes slightly. "I did, yes," she says. "Shit timing, huh?"

"Shit day," I agree.

* * *

"Oh, my God, she's here!"

"Dios Mio! Calm the fuck down, Berry!"

"Don't tell me to calm down, Santana!"

"She looks scary."

"Not helping, Britt."

"Oi, don't snap at Britt just because you're freaking the fuck out!"

"Sorry, Britt." Then: "Where's Kurt?"

"Why the fuck would I know?"

I sigh, wringing my fingers together as I pace the corridor outside the choir room. Right now, Carmen Tibideaux is in that room and, yes, I _am_ freaking the fuck out. I look at Santana, stopping mid-step. "If you don't know where Kurt is; do you at least know where Quinn is?"

"Do I look like her secretary?"

I press my lips together to stop myself from saying something I'll regret. I _definitely_ don't want to have to audition with a black eye. "Can you _please_ find her?" I say instead. "She's supposed to be here by now. They both are."

Santana grits her teeth as she takes out her phone, and I resume my pacing. Madame Tibideaux arrived ten minutes ago and she's been locked in conversation with Mr Schuester for seven of those minutes, nodding absently to whatever he's saying. I can't hear them but I can see them through the window in the door to the choir room. She doesn't look impressed, and I swear I will personally castrate him if he manages to ruin this for me and Kurt.

"Oh, thank God," Santana suddenly says, and I look up. "Blondie and the Lady, four o'clock."

I turn my head to spy my girlfriend and best friend heading down the corridor, both of them with their game faces on. I have half a mind to berate them both for making me wait, but the words die on my lips when I register what Kurt is actually wearing. It's... not what he initially chose - more understated and professional - and I glance at Quinn in question. She barely meets my gaze before she comes to a stop at my side, her pinkie seeking mine for just a moment of contact before she's all business.

"Do you know who's going first?" she asks, addressing the group.

"Kurt," I answer.

The boy lets out a breath. "This is it, isn't it?"

"Pretty much," Santana says.

As tempting as it is to ask about Blaine, I hold my tongue. I imagine he would want to be here for his... friend - even if they did just break up - but what if Kurt asked him not to come? I don't even know which scenario would be worse: Blaine not wanting to be here or Kurt not wanting him to be?

We're still standing in a little huddle when the choir room door opens and out steps Madame Tibideaux, Mr Schuester and the two people accompanying the woman from NYADA. She's honestly the scariest, most intimidating woman I've ever come across, but I can't help thinking about the spirit of the person I'll find inside if I can manage to get an _in_.

"Mr Hummel," Madame Tibideaux says in greeting because she's already seen me.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am," he says politely, dipping his head slightly.

She glances between me and Kurt. "I will see you both in the auditorium in exactly three minutes," she says flatly, and then walks away, her two companions and Mr Schuester trailing behind her.

"Okay," I say, bouncing slightly.

Brittany tugs us all into a group hug, passing along her good vibes and confidence. It does me a world of good... for the first two minutes. As a group, we make our way to the auditorium, and Kurt leaves us when we slide into a row near the back. I realise belatedly that my hands are shaking when Quinn's fingers link with mine.

I look at her, and she smiles in response. "Remember why you're doing this," she whispers. "Remember all those other reasons, Rachel, and then remember the most important one. You're doing it for you." She rests her forehead again mine. "For _you_."

It's enough. It's more than enough, but I still say, "I'm doing it for you, too."

Her brow furrows slightly but she stops herself from arguing with me. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

It's definitely enough, and the four of us turn our attention to the front of the auditorium. I hear the door open behind us and, in the darkness of the back, both Finn and Blaine slide into the furthest row. I can't help my smile, relieved they're both here to support Kurt, even if it is in silence.

For the most part, Kurt does well. He sings _Don't Cry for me, Argentina_ as it was performed in _Evita_ , which blows us all away in the best way. I think the breakup helps him with his emotions, and it definitely shows. I can't tell if he intends it, but it almost sounds as if he's singing _to_ Blaine. I mean, I know this song has significant meaning to the both of them, so when he sings the lines _you'll think it strange when I try to explain how I feel that I still need your love after all that I've done_ and _and as for fortune, and as for fame, I never invited them in, though it seemed to the world they were all I desired_ , I know for sure.

.

 _Don't cry for me, Argentina_  
 _The truth is, I never left you_  
 _All through my wild days, my mad existence_  
 _I kept my promise_  
 _Don't keep your distance_

.

Kurt's classic monologue is a comedic piece that has us all giggling behind our hands, and his contemporary monologue is dramatic. Kurt dons the persona of an older man talking to his son about the first time he learned that his own father was, in fact, human. It's a beautiful piece, and it's obvious to us all that he's thinking about Burt. It's no secret he believes he's been lucky to get the father he has and, after everything that's happened with Quinn, it's become even more clear.

I suppose we're all lucky in our own ways.

When it's my turn, Quinn squeezes my hand and sends me on my way. I don't feel nervous, not really, but there is a fluttering in my stomach. I think it's excitement or something in that ballpark. All I know is that I'm doing this for Aunt Marianne and my dads and my Quinn and myself.

It was _always_ going to be enough.

.

 _Oh, my man, I love him so_  
 _He'll never know_  
 _All my life is just despair_  
 _But I don't care_  
 _When he takes me in his arms_  
 _The world is bright, all right_  
 _What's the difference if I say_  
 _I'll go away_  
 _When I know I'll come back on my knees some day?_  
 _For whatever my man is_  
 _I am his forever more_

 _It's cost me a lot_  
 _But there's one thing that I've got_  
 _It's my man_  
 _Cold and wet, tired you bet_  
 _But all that I soon forget_  
 _With my man_  
 _He's not much for looks_  
 _And no hero out of books_  
 _Is my man_  
 _Two or three girls has he_  
 _That he likes as well as me_  
 _But I love him!_

 _Oh, my man, I love him so_  
 _He'll never know_  
 _All my life is just despair_  
 _But I don't care_  
 _When he takes me in his arms_  
 _The world is bright, all right_  
 _What's the difference if I say_  
 _I'll go away_  
 _When I know I'll come back on my knees some day?_  
 _For what ever my man is_  
 _I am his forever more_

.

As soon as I sing the last note, I _know_.

I don't know how I know, but I just do. The monologues barely even matter in this moment. Really, everything else is just a formality from this point forward... because I'm going to New York City. Even if the crazy scary woman in the fifth row happens to tell me _no_ , I'm still going, and that's all there is to it.

Though, it certainly does help that she eventually says _yes_.

* * *

With the audition over, it's my intention to get my life as back to normal as I can. Which, in hindsight, is actually a stupid thought, because my life has never been normal. My dads, Quinn and I all have a quiet and somewhat subdued celebratory dinner because, well, I didn't choke, and that means something. It's as normal a night as we've had in a long time and Quinn and I crawl into bed nice and early, her arms sliding around my body and holding me close.

Which is why, of course, everything just goes to shit the very next day.

I can't even be sure what's happening until I find myself _looking_ for Quinn. She's been a constant at my side since, well, forever, so it catches me off guard when I suddenly can't find her. I know she's been busy, and she's been putting off a lot of things to make sure I'm doing okay, but now that she's somewhat returned to her daily schedule; it throws me.

I mean, she still sends me reassuring texts during the day and, even though we live together, we still greet each other at my locker every morning. I still meet her at hers just after the lunch bell and, on the surface, everything is _fine_.

But, by Friday's Glee, I just know everything _isn't_. It's _more_ than just school and the Cheerios. There's something on Quinn's mind, and she's actively _not_ discussing it with me. I don't know if she's withholding because she doesn't want to add to the... grief or whatever, or if it's something else entirely. It's the one reason I know I have to wait for Quinn to come to me. The last time I forced her hand didn't go very well for anybody, and I would really love to avoid that at all costs. Possibly for forever.

It's nothing strange to arrive at the choir room and not find Quinn in her seat, but I still _feel_ it. She's not _here_ , when she said she would be.

"Where's Quinn?" I ask as I drop into my own chair, my fingers twitching with my sudden need to _see_ her.

Santana rolls her eyes, but there's an obvious warmth behind the action. "She's on her way, Berry," she says gently. "Coach just had to talk to her about something."

I blink a few times, unsure why I feel so uneasy. "It's nothing bad, is it?"

"Nah," she says. "It's just Nationals' stuff, you know? We're getting closer and closer to the penultimate competition."

I turn my head to look at her. "How are you feeling about that, by the way?"

Santana looks momentarily surprised by the attention I'm giving her, but she recovers quickly enough. "It's a big deal," she says seriously. "Not just for the squad or even Coach, but for Quinn." Her eyes meet mine. "I don't think it will matter all that much when it comes to her college position if we don't actually win, but I'd like to. I want us to leave as winners, and I want to be able to give this _win_ to Quinn, because she deserves it. I just - I don't want to let her down."

It's an oddly vulnerable response from her, and I immediately reach for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. I'm not really sure what to say to her so, for once in my life, I say nothing at all. It looks like she appreciates it, and the two of us just sit in silence as we wait for Glee to begin.

When Quinn does arrive, she walks into the choir room with Finn. They're talking about something with which I can tell Quinn doesn't look particularly comfortable. Her eyes are slightly pinched and her mouth is set in a thin line. They stop walking in the middle of the floor, her arms folded tightly across her chest. I watch as Finn says a few words, a hand coming to rest on Quinn's shoulder. My grip on Santana's hand automatically tightens and she shoots me a curious look.

It's when Quinn nods once and visibly relaxes in Finn's presence that I start feeling something _new_. I've been jealous before, of course, so I know this isn't that. I've been worried and suspicious and skeptical, but this is definitely something I've never felt before because, when Quinn smiles at him, my heart skips a beat. That's supposed to be _my_ smile. It's small and affectionate and even a little bashful, and it's supposed to be _mine_.

I drop my gaze when it becomes too much for me to see and I force away all my insecurities, absently releasing Santana's hand and resting my palms on the tops of my thighs. It's nothing. She's just being Quinn.

It's _nothing_.

When Quinn drops into the seat beside me, her knee bounces against mine but I pretend not to notice. She leans in close, her breath warm against my cheek. "Rach, is everything okay?" she whispers, and the words carry so much meaning. She's asking the question, and truly referring to _everything_.

I nod once before I finally meet her gaze. There's something new there; a mixture of melancholy and excitement. I've - I've never seen it before and it unsettles me. "Is everything okay with you?" I force myself to ask.

She also nods, her fingers reaching for the hand Santana was holding a minute ago. "Everything is wonderful," she says, and I just _know_ it has nothing to do with me.

* * *

I want to say it gets better, but it really doesn't. That look in her eyes doesn't dissipate the entire weekend, and I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach every time we're not together. I don't know if it's in my head or not, but it feels as if she's pulling away from me.

And moving towards Finn.

It's -

No.

By the following Thursday, I've worked myself into a right panic. I think I'm so used to having Quinn at my side that it's weird and frightening when she's not... and I don't know where she is. It makes me paranoid and scared. I can practically _sense_ that something is coming, and I don't even know how to approach Quinn about it.

So, I talk to Santana instead.

"Is Quinn avoiding me?" I ask during lunch, suddenly wary of whatever answer I'm going to receive.

Santana eyes me curiously, probably noticing the hard edges of my mouth and the dark circles under my eyes. "No," she says. "Well, not that I know of, anyway. Why?"

"I don't know," I confess quietly. "She just seems... distracted."

"Or she's just really busy," she offers. "Coach has really been riding her about Nationals."

Somehow, I just _know_ that's not it. "She's - she's been spending quite a bit of time with... Finn."

Santana's eyes narrow for a brief moment. "Look, Berry, don't make any snap judgments, okay?" she says, sounding exhausted. "You don't know what's going on, so you should probably just _talk_ to her about it."

I hear her and I'm sure I register her words, which is why I wait for Quinn at home with the intention of doing just that: talking and listening and figuring out just what has been going on with my girlfriend. I feel as if I'm out of the loop when it comes to _her_ life because we've been so focused on _me_ and _my_ grief. It's just going to be a conversation, and we're going to get to the bottom of this.

Only, well, seven o'clock turns into eight o'clock, and by the time it's ten o'clock and she still hasn't even replied to any of my texts; all of my sanity flies out the window. I don't know if it's paranoia or I just miss her like crazy but, when she casually strolls through the front door at ten-thirty, with _that_ smile on her face; I snap.

"Where have you been?"

The smile immediately slips from her face at the tone of my voice. "Hey," she says hesitantly, clearly unsure what to make of me in this moment. "Is everything okay?"

"Where were you?" I ask again. "I've been calling and texting and Santana had no idea where you were and - "

"Whoa," she says, holding her hands up to stop my rant as we stand in the entrance hall facing each other, practically squaring off. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"What's _wrong_?" I echo in disbelief. "I don't know, Quinn; why don't you tell me?"

At the sound of that, her posture changes, and I recognise her defences rising. "Okay," she says carefully. "I don't know what's going on right now, but you're going to have to stop speaking to me like that."

"Like what?" I snap. "Like I _know_ you're hiding something from me?"

Her stance falters slightly because it's obvious I'm right, and my heart breaks for a reason I can barely register. "I'm not _trying_ to hide anything from you," she says, practically sighing. "It's just that I know how you feel about Finn right now, and we've been - "

"You've been with Finn?" I practically shriek, and she flinches.

"Will you just listen to me?"

My eyes narrow in challenge because, yes, this is going to be our first fight since she moved in, and I just know it's going to be ugly.

Our big fights usually _are_.

It still doesn't stop me from asking the one question that's going to make it escalate: "Why should I?"


	49. forty-nine

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _'no' might make them angry.  
_ _but it will make you free._

 _._

"Jesus, will you _stop_ snapping at me!"

The challenge is there, and she's choosing to rise to it. A part of me acknowledges this may all be part of her grieving process. She's actively picking a fight with me for whatever reason and it's grating on my nerves, even though I know I shouldn't let it.

"It's obvious I have a reason to," she counters darkly, and my fists clench.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I'm not doing this with you."

"Doing what?"

"Fighting," I hiss in annoyance. "God, Rachel, will you please just stop! Whatever you think is going on here is _not_ going on, okay? Please can we just _not_ fight. I'm tired and this is the last thing I want."

"And you think _I_ want to?"

"Yes," I answer. "You're picking at things that aren't even there and trying to _find_ things to fight about."

"Oh, so, I'm just supposed to be okay with my girlfriend spending time with her ex, then?"

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose to keep myself calm. She's obviously not in control, and it definitely wouldn't do either of us any good if I were to lose mine as well. It's just _hard_. All I've done the past few days is everything I can _not_ to add onto whatever she's going through. I feel my own grief at Aunt Marianne, and I can only imagine what she's feeling.

LeRoy is faring no better, and both Hiram and I have been especially _good_.

And, now, well, _this_.

Rachel isn't backing down, and it's the part of me that acknowledges that she's picking this fight to _feel_ something that stops me from saying something harsh. I mean, how dare she insinuate I'm cheating on her with Finn? We've been through this, ad nauseam. I _know_ I can appear to be a heartless bitch, but I was under the impression my girlfriend knew me better that.

Which is why I eventually give in to my baser instincts and fight back.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry!" I snap angrily. "Jesus Christ. I'm _sorry_ I haven't given you enough attention these past few days, but I have other things going on too. Contrary to what you may believe; my world _doesn't_ revolve around just you!"

Her mouth drops open in surprise, and we just stare at each other. "Is that _really_ what you think this is about?" she questions, her voice low and dangerous.

"I don't know _what_ this _is_ about," I immediately say. "You're fighting with me over nothing. I _told_ you my phone died, and I _told_ you I was working on something with Finn. I refrained from divulging the details because I don't want you to get all twisted in a knot about my spending time with him, which _obviously_ hasn't worked."

"Obviously," she mutters.

I sigh heavily, deflating instantly. "I don't want to fight with you," I say. "It was the last thing I wanted. I didn't want to add any more stress to your life, Rachel, which is why I didn't tell you about what Finn and I were - " I stop, suddenly irritated. No. She just accused me of cheating on her. She doesn't deserve an explanation, right now. "You know what, it doesn't even matter," I say. "You already jumped to your own conclusions, even though I've repeatedly told you that you have nothing to worry about."

She just stares at me.

Well, okay.

"Goodnight," I say, almost as an afterthought, and then make my way up the stairs and disappear into the guest bedroom, feeling thoroughly exhausted and defeated. It's a feeling I wasn't sure I would ever experience in this house.

So much for simple and easy.

* * *

In the morning, I leave for school before Rachel. I usually do, because I have early morning Cheerio practice on Friday mornings, but this feels like a slight in the fact that I don't say goodbye to her and she doesn't see me off with coffee and a kiss. We're... fighting, I guess. I'm actively trying not to think about it because there's something very important Finn and I need to do today. I can worry about the state of my relationship later.

I avoid Rachel all day, using the excuse of Cheerios to keep myself busy and ignore Santana's questioning eyes. I absently wonder if the Quinn management team is working its magic around me, but I'm trying not to think too much about it.

It isn't until Glee, when I'm forced to be in the same space as Rachel, that I acknowledge how stupid this fight actually is. I don't even know why I'm perpetuating it. I mean, do I even have a right to be angry? Does _she_?

Either way, I sink into my usual seat beside her, but refrain from looking at her. The air between us is icy, but even I know it's thawed considerably since I walked past her desk without saying a word during Spanish. I suppose it helps that she's not exactly looking at me either. Only for a moment, though, because I have to focus on what Finn and I are here to do.

It's almost fifteen minutes into Glee when it happens, and I grit my teeth when Finn raises his hand. "Uh, Mr Schue," he says. "Quinn and I would like to perform a song, if that's all right."

Like the rest of the club, our teacher looks surprised by the request, but he recovers quickly. "Of course," he says, and then leaves the floor, inviting us to take up position.

I barely look at anybody as I rise to my feet and step off the risers. Finn is smiling at me and it should be reassuring, but it's not. I suddenly feel nervous for reasons that have nothing to do with my fuming girlfriend or confused club mates. I think Finn senses that because he places a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey," he says quietly, ducking his head to meet my gaze. "She's going to love it," he says. "She's going to be able to keep it forever, you know? I think that's the best part."

Shakily, I return his smile. "That _is_ the best part," I agree as I step to the side and settle onto my stool.

Finn moves towards Mr Schuester, absently fumbling with his phone. "Mr Schue, do you think you could please record this for us?" he says, opening the camera and handing it to the teacher. "It's kind of a special one."

Mr Schuester obviously isn't the only one unsure of what to make of all of this but I'm trying not to think about that. I can _feel_ Rachel's eyes on me and I just know she's glaring. I mean, how stupid does she think I am, honestly? If I _were_ cheating on her, would I actually be singing _with_ the person I would cheat with? Right in front of her, no less.

Seriously.

"You ready?" Finn asks me as he slides onto his own stool.

I chuckle weakly. "No."

He bumps one of the legs of my stool with his foot. "Do you not want to talk?" he asks, sounding younger than I've ever heard him... and I've had to deal with the aftermath of telling him I'm pregnant. _That's_ a conversation I don't like to remember.

"No, I do," I assure him. "Maybe you should just start."

"Cool," he says, smiling in that dopey schoolboy way he does. It's enough to settle me and I lift my gaze to take in all the faces before me. Rachel isn't even looking at me, which, I suppose, is better.

Or worse, I don't know.

Her eyes are rather on Finn.

Finn looks at Mr Schuester. "Are you ready?"

"Whenever you are."

Finn grins, turning his body to face the camera. I can hear him count to three under his breath, and it makes me smile knowing that I'm not the only one who's nervous. He takes a deep breath, and then exhales: "Hi, Beth."

The entire room falls silent.

Finn's smile falters slightly but he pushes on. "As much as we wanted to make it to Cincinnati to see you on your special day, we, umm, have... school." He chuckles lightly, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Stay in school, huh?"

I can't help my own light laugh, and he glances at me, which gives me all the encouragement I need to speak. "Hi, baby girl," I say, and my voice sounds foreign to my own ears. For some reason, it makes me smile that bit wider. "We wish we could be there with you but, one day, I hope you understand why we're not." There's a hard lump in my throat and I swallow thickly to try to get rid of it. "We're sending this video with that turtle your Papa said you _love_."

Finn nods. "I love turtles."

"We both do," I add, and it feels like one of those _things_ we can both hang onto. If Beth inherits nothing else from us, I hope she can love turtles forever. "We just wanted to wish you a happy second birthday, Sweetheart. We hope it's full of love and laughter and lots of smiles and even more cake."

"We love you," Finn says.

"So much," I whisper.

Finn takes my hand and gives it a quick squeeze before letting go. "This song is for you, Beth. We hope you like it."

I take a moment to compose myself as Finn turns his head to nod at Brad. I know she's only turning two years old but she _is_ going to have this video for forever, and it's a little terrifying. But, when the music starts, my body relaxes. Beth probably won't even _care_ if I'm pitchy or... occasionally sharp. I can't help my smile at that thought, and I lift my head when Finn starts singing the first lines of Tim McGraw's _Humble and Kind_.

" _You know there's a lot that goes by the front door_ ," he sings, the words filling the quiet room. " _Don't forget the keys under the mat. Childhood stars shine, always stay humble and kind_."

I pick up the next lines, my voice a bit shaky. " _Go to church 'cause your momma says to_ ," I sing, which, miraculously, brings out a slight chuckle from my lips. Hah. " _Visit grandpa every chance that you can. It won't be a waste of time. Always stay humble and kind_."

Then we sing together, the harmony of our voices saying more than I think our words ever could. " _Hold the door, say please say thank you. Don't steal, don't cheat, and don't lie. I know you got mountains to climb but always stay humble and kind. When the dreams you're dreamin' come to you; when the work you put in is realised. Let yourself feel the pride but always stay humble and kind_."

When Finn picks up the next verse, I feel a certain weight lift from my shoulders. This has to be the best idea he's ever had. " _Don't expect a free ride from no one. Don't hold a grudge or a chip and here's why: bitterness keeps you from flying. Always stay humble and kind_."

My smile is still on my face when I sing the next lines, my voice stronger and surer. " _Know the difference between sleeping with someone, and sleeping with someone you love. 'I love you' ain't no pick up line so always stay humble and kind_."

Finn takes my hand once more when we sing the next chorus together, and I let him. This isn't even about him or me, or about Rachel. It's about Beth. It's always been about Beth. " _Hold the door, say please say thank you. Don't steal, don't cheat, and don't lie. I know you got mountains to climb but always stay humble and kind. When the dreams you're dreamin' come to you; when the work you put in is realised. Let yourself feel the pride but always stay humble and kind_."

" _Ye-yeah_ ," Finn sings, grinning at the camera. I find I wouldn't mind if Beth somehow inherited _that_ as well. There's just something incredibly endearing about Finn's happy smile.

There's a moment when the music takes over, and I use the opportunity to look at the faces in front of me. All their eyes are on us, looks of understanding and empathy framing majority of their features. Then there's Rachel, who has tears in her eyes... which fills _my_ eyes with tears.

Jesus.

Already, I'm barely holding it together.

When the music dies down, Finn's fingers squeeze mine again. It's almost a cappella now, just quiet acoustic guitar and Finn's gentle voice. " _When it's hot, have a root beer, a popsicle. Shut off the AC and roll the windows down. Let that summer sun shine. Always stay humble and kind_."

I'll own up to the fact that I wanted to be the one to finish the song, and I take that opportunity with both hands, trying to inject all I'm feeling into the sound of my voice. " _Don't take for granted the love this life gives you. When you get where you're goin', don't forget to turn back around. Help the next one in line. Always stay humble and kind_."

There's no applause, for which I'm grateful. This isn't a performance for _them_. It's for Beth.

Finn turns his attention back to the camera. "This is what we wish for you, Beth," he says, his voice serious. "For now, and for always." He glances at me, and I merely nod. "Love, Quinn and Finn," he says, and then we both laugh because how absurd are our names put together like that?

Finn nods at Mr Schuester and he stops filming.

I drop my head, wiping at my eyes and whisper, "Mommy loves you, baby girl." If Finn hears me, he doesn't say anything, and I'm vaguely aware of movement all around me. It's when I feel strong arms around my shoulders that I feel my body instantly deflate.

Brittany's embrace is warm and inviting, but she's not the one I want to be hugging me. Still, I accept all the comfort I can, soaking it up as best I can. I feel a hand on the back of my neck, and look up to see Kurt, whose eyes are glassy.

"She knows," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "She knows you love her, Quinn. Of course, she knows. How could she not?"

I chuckle through a sob. "I _just_ got it together, Kurt," I grumble.

He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Don't act all righteous," he teases; "you _know_ you're ridiculously pretty when you cry."

At the sound of his words, my eyes flick Rachel's way, and I find her standing a little off to the side with Tina, her eyes on me. With a slight wave of my hand, she jerks into motion, and I get to my feet just in time to be wrapped in a Berry hug that settles every frazzled nerve ending I have.

"I'm sorry," Rachel mumbles against my collarbone.

I don't say anything as I release her, forcing us apart before this turns into a spectacle for the whole of Glee. "Later," I eventually say, and then we all return to our seats so Mr Schuester can sputter and fumble through a possible Nationals' setlist.

And, of course, the man makes the mistake of suggesting we revisit the idea of writing our own songs, once again. It's as if he has a death wish or something, because there's thunderous outrage from not only Rachel. In fact, she barely has to say anything because Kurt is leading the uproar, along with Blaine - which is strange, really, because I haven't seen them even participate in the same conversations since their breakup.

"Okay, okay," Mr Schuester finally relents. "We won't do that. Are there any suggestions?"

"There have been _endless_ suggestions," Santana points out; "but _you_ don't like any of them."

"I just don't think they fit the 'Vintage' theme very well," he defends. "I can't be blamed for wanting to meet the brief as best as possible, can I?"

There are rebuttals to be said, but nobody takes the bait.

"Why don't we split into groups and look through the catalogues?" he suggests, and we acquiesce. Anything to feel as if we're actually _doing_ something to get ready for the most important competition of our musical lives.

I want to win this for Rachel.

I want nothing more than for us to graduate as National Champions.

Brittany grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. Apparently, we're going to be working on choreography, regardless of the fact we have no music. Of course, _I'm_ definitely not going to be the one to point that out. I don't want to make Brittany sad, and I decidedly don't want to risk Santana's wrath.

Mike joins us eventually, and the three of us work out some simple steps, keeping in mind some of the lack of skill we have at our disposal. I make a note to mention to Mr Schuester that he should really consider allowing the more talented dancers to showcase their - our - skills. Right now, I think we're going to have to do anything and everything we possibly can to make sure we win.

When Mr Schuester finally dismisses us, I start to pack up my things, vaguely aware of Rachel and Santana talking to our teacher about something. I can just imagine he's not enjoying what they have to say.

I shoulder my bag when I'm done and walk towards them. "I have to grab something at my locker," I tell Rachel, briefly interrupting. "I'll meet you at the car." I don't wait for a response as I walk out of the choir room and head to my locker. I don't feel as out-of-sorts as I have all day.

Rachel and I are okay.

Or, we will be.

We're Quinn and Rachel, she's always saying.

We'll always be okay.

I'm grinning to myself when I get to my locker, my mind already running through a mental checklist of what books I need to take home with me, in order to complete my weekend homework and assignments. It's going to be a long, busy weekend.

"Quinn?"

The fact that I don't startle tells me all I need to know and I turn slightly, my eyes catching sight of Finn's hopeful eyes. Of course, this _is_ something I've worried about since we started rehearsing the song together. I was doing it solely for Beth, and I've been holding onto the hope that Finn wouldn't read anything into our brief partnership.

"So, I sent the video," he says softly. "Julia said they'll play it for her tomorrow."

"That's good," I say. "Thank you for doing that."

"You sounded really good," he says.

I want to roll my eyes at the way he's trying to prolong this conversation, but I stop myself. "You did, too," I say. "I'm glad we did this. You were right when you said it's something she'll get to keep forever."

"Yeah."

Sensing his awkwardness, I turn my body to face him and prompt him to get to the point. "Was there something else?" I ask.

He shifts his weight from his left foot to his right. "Well, I was wondering, uh, if you had a date for Prom?"

The question catches me off guard for a number of reasons that have nothing to do with _Finn asking me_. It's just that, well, I completely forgot all about _Prom_.

Me.

Quinn Fabray.

Completely forgot about Prom. I almost can't believe it.

But, then, I kind of do.

I clear my throat. "Finn," I say, exasperated.

He raises his hands in innocence. "It's just a question of _if_ you have one," he says, all innocence, as if that's so much better.

I sigh. "At the moment, no, I do not," I say because I really don't. And, if I were to say yes, he would want to know who, and I can't quite lie about that. Rachel and I definitely need to have a talk about that.

Well, we have a hell of a lot to talk about, really.

Finn's eyes widen. "Oh, okay," he says. Then: "I was thinking we should go together. We could run for Prom King and Queen together, and you would definitely win. I mean, that's always been one of your dreams, right? To win, right?"

I've got to hand it to him. The old Quinn - the version of myself that dated him wholeheartedly - probably would have jumped at the opportunity. The Quinn he believes he knows would do just about anything to win Prom Queen, and, sure, it would probably help to have him to run with, but I'm not that Quinn anymore.

I could win without him.

If I even wanted to.

I sigh.

"Finn," I start. "That's a really nice offer, but I'm going to have to decline."

He frowns. "You're saying no?"

"I'm saying no," I confirm.

"Why?"

"Because, Finn," I say. "I already told you how I felt. Nothing that happened this week changes that, okay? I'm sorry this is so difficult for you to grasp, but I meant what I said. I don't want to get back together with you, which means I'm not going to be going to Prom with you."

"But - but, how are you supposed to win?"

I arch an eyebrow. "You're obviously delusional if you think I would need a _guy_ to win," I says, trying desperately to keep the _hiss_ out of my voice, but I must fail.

He takes a cautious step back. "You're saying no," he states, rather than asks, this time.

"I'm saying no," I echo.

And, God, I sincerely hope this is the last time I have to say it.

* * *

The ride home is quiet for the first three minutes. Rachel and I just listen to the radio, her left foot absently tapping along to the beat of the incredibly poppy song she's convinced I must love. I don't, not really, but I can appreciate a catchy tune, even if the lyrics are horrific.

Rachel, expectedly, breaks the silence. "I'm sorry." She sucks in a shaky breath. "I don't even know what - I just - I'm sorry. You were right. About everything."

"I generally am," I find myself saying.

"I know I jumped to conclusions, but you didn't _tell_ me, Quinn," she says. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I wring my fingers together, trying to find the words. "I don't know how to talk about Beth," I say. "I haven't managed to do it with _anyone_ , Rachel. Well, anyone but Finn, but he's - he's - "

"He's Beth's father," she finishes.

"He is," I say. "He's always going to be. We're always going to be linked that way, particularly if we intend to stay in her life. But, baby, that's _it_. I promise that's it. I don't want to be with him. I want to be with you. I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere, okay?

"I just - I don't know how to talk to you about her. It's not as if I don't want to. I just _can't_." I run a hand over my hair, sighing heavily. "I didn't want to bring it up unnecessarily. I haven't had to deal with someone else interested in knowing about Beth or her birthday. It's just a thing I deal with every year."

"I should have remembered," she cuts in.

"It's not your job to remember," I counter.

"But, it is," she argues right back. "I should have remembered, Quinn. I _know_ Beth's birthday, and I should have remembered. I should have been able to figure out why you were pulling away. I _know_ you, and I should have known."

"Please, stop," I say.

"Quinn?"

"This isn't some debate, okay," I say. "I failed to tell you something. I'm sorry. You jumped to conclusions and picked a fight. You're sorry. It's fine." I make a fist with my left hand. "The problem now is that there is an endless number of psychological reasons why both of those things happened."

It's Rachel's turn to sigh. "I understand why you wouldn't want to talk about Beth," she says. "I think it's one of the reasons I'm not talking to anyone about Aunt Marianne. It hurts too much."

"It does," I agree, my voice barely a whisper.

"You know, I can still see her face, and I can hear her voice so clearly," she says, her voice layered in sadness. "Do you think I'll ever forget it? Because I'm afraid, one day, I will."

I close my eyes, wishing I had the right words to reassure her. "I don't know, Rachel," I tell her. "I think there will be some aspects that will fade, but you'll always have your memories and your love. She may be gone, but that will never change."

"I don't want to forget."

"I won't let you."

"How?"

I rest a hand on her thigh. "I'll remind you of her every day."

Her hand covers mine, her fingers sliding into the spaces between mine. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

"I might," I mumble.

"I know none of the last few days has been easy for you, and I know I'm not handling the grief well, and - "

"Rachel," I interrupt. "There's no specific way you're _supposed_ to deal with this."

"I know," she breathes; "but I just wish I _was_ handling it better. I just - I want to say thank you, Quinn. Thank you for being perfect and so patient with me when I - "

"I told you to stop calling me that," I interrupt again.

"What?"

"I'm not perfect, okay?"

"I know that."

"No, I don't think you do," I counter, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Definitely not when it comes to all of this, at least."

She stares helplessly at me, and it's the first time I realise we've actually pulled into the Berry driveway. Neither of us makes a move to leave the car, which is a good thing, too, because I think I would lose my thunder if we were to step out into the world.

"What are we talking about?" she asks, giving me her full attention now that she's stopped driving.

"I need you to listen to me," I say. "Listen to what I'm saying. When it comes to relationships, I'm going to mess up. I'll probably start unnecessary fights and get stupidly jealous over nothing, but there are three things you should know: I'm not playing some kind of game with you, Rachel. I'm in this, and I'm giving it and you my very best. I've chosen to be with you this way, and it's only you. Only. Okay?

"Rachel, I love you. _I love you_. It's a big deal for me, okay? Needing and loving someone the way I need and love you... God, it terrifies the crap out of me, but I'm here. I'm _here_ , and I don't want anything more and anyone else. So, please, can you get it into that thick skull of yours that I belong to you, and I _want_ to."

Rachel is silent for the longest time before she lets out a nervous laugh. "Now that you're not actively and _directly_ insulting me every chance you get, you wrap them up in lovely sentiment and simple compliments."

I roll my eyes. "It's not my fault you have a thick skull."

"It protects my precious brain."

I just hum, and she swats my arm. "I love your brain," I tell her.

"Just my brain?"

"And your very sexy body," I immediately say.

Her eyes flash dangerously, and it takes all my willpower not to leap across the console and devour her. She must see _that_ in my eyes because she shifts uncomfortably, and then smiles. "We should go inside," she says.

"We really should," I agree.

We spend another minute just staring at each other before she makes the first move and climbs out. I let out a shaky breath and follow, retrieving my bag from the trunk. Rachel is the one to unlock the front door, and then we're in the entrance hall. I set my bag down, intending to ask her if she wants anything from the kitchen.

But.

Before I know what's happening, Rachel's mouth is on mine, claiming me in a way it hasn't since before we got the news about Aunt Marianne. Her kiss is hot and demanding, bruising in its own way, and I can barely keep up with her ravenous pace as hands start to roam.

I'm not entirely sure how we get upstairs. I can barely focus on anything other than her tongue in my mouth or her fingers in my hair. It's intoxicating. _She's_ intoxicating, and I don't ever see myself being able to have enough of her.

When we get to her bedroom, Rachel kicks the door shut, and immediately pushes me up against it, her body pressing into mine as her hands sneaking under the top of my uniform. Her fingers dance across the flesh of my abdomen, making my muscles jump. It's heady, and I need to _breathe_.

"Bed," she pants, her fingers digging into my hips as she manhandles me once more. She turns us, and then guides me to the edge of the bed. As soon as my legs make contact, I drop down and she immediately climbs up on the bed, straddling me as she kisses me again with that talented mouth.

Before I can help it, I rock my hips, grinding up against her and making us both moan. She pulls at my uniform's top, tugging it up until I lift my arms, so she can pull it all the way off and toss it somewhere. Without wasting another moment, she slides a hand behind me, fumbles for a moment, and then releases the clasp on my bra, immediately pulling it off and chucking it in the direction of my top.

I reach for her, wanting to touch, but she catches my arms by the wrists, and shakes her head as she forces me to lie back.

"Not yet," she says, and good God, this take-charge Rachel Berry is fucking sexy.

We shift again, sliding across the bed until I'm fully on my back and she's poised to attack. I desperately want to touch her, to feel her, but I nod, letting her set the pace.

Again, with little preamble, she reaches down and pulls my skirt up around my waist, while I struggle to lift myself off the bed to help. I gasp as her left hand slides between my legs, rubbing me through the fabric of my Spanx and boyshorts I'm wearing in lieu of panties. I almost forget that we're actually having sex now, so I almost yelp when she slides her fingers up, slipping them under the waistband.

"Oh, my God," I moan as I feel those talented fingers getting reacquainted with my wet heat. I grab the sheets, twisting the fabric in my hands and _hold on_. My eyes slip closed, my head rolling back as her fingers slip inside. "Rachel," I breathe.

"I'm here," she murmurs, her breath hot against my skin.

" _Move_ ," I demand.

She chuckles; honest to God, _chuckles_.

And then her mouth closes over my left nipple, at the same time her fingers start moving, forcing a shudder through my entire body. It's not going to take very long, I know. It's almost embarrassing the way I'm already feeling it coming.

"Rachel," I hiss. "God, yes, yes."

I feel her smirk against me; the little menace, she is. Her fingers curl upwards, and I feel it coming, my throat closing up. I can barely catch my breath, and my voice isn't working.

"Rach, I'm - I'm - " I try to warn her, but it happens so fast and, before I know it, her thumb has found my clit and I'm throwing my head back as I come. Hard.

When I've settled down, she moves up and kisses me, her tongue sliding into my open mouth and caressing mine as her fingers stay resting inside me.

Waiting.

"Rachel," I whimper when she pulls her mouth away. "What are you - "

"I love you," she interrupts, her eyes meeting mine. "Quinn, I love you so much."

"Okay - " is all I can manage to say because her fingers are moving again, and it's heaven. It's _everything_. And, really, I think she gets a kick out of driving me mad because she's drawing it out, taking me closer and closer to the edge without letting me fall. "Rachel," I practically beg, my grip tightening on the sheets. "Please."

She kisses me again, swallowing my pleading.

"Please," I beg again, breaking the kiss because I can't take it anymore. I _need_ to come. "Please."

There's that smirk again, and her fingers are curling and her thumb is exploring and her strokes are speeding up and -

"I love you," she says again, and that does it. I fall over the edge, once more, on a breathless moan. "I love you," she says again. "I love you. I love you."

I whimper when she pulls her fingers out, but then she wraps her arms around me and holds me through the afterglow. Honestly, I think she's a little too chuffed with herself, right now. I definitely want to wipe the smirk off her face, so I lean up, press a kiss to her cheek and whisper, "Take off your clothes."

Rachel's eyes snap to mine, and then she smiles. She pushes some hair off my forehead, kisses the skin there, and then slides off the bed. I sit up on my elbows to watch as she undresses. There's no music playing, but this is Rachel Berry, so she sings as the garments slowly come off. I can't keep my eyes off her as all her perfect skin is exposed.

"I find I'm more undressed than you are," she suddenly says, and I look down at my own body.

"Huh," I say. "I should probably do something about that."

"Probably," she drawls.

Not looking away from her, I reach down to pull off my skirt, Spanx and boyshorts, and toss the lot of them onto the floor. "Better?" I ask.

"Much."

Sitting up fully, I hold out my hand for her to take. "Come, lie with me," I whisper, pulling her down onto the bed beside me. I waste barely a moment before I'm rolling onto her, straddling her perfect hips and kissing her as my hands move to cup her breasts. I squeeze and knead them gently, feeling and hearing her moan when I pinch her nipples.

I've missed her quite desperately.

My lips slip down, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, past her sternum, to her chest. I spend a few moments replacing my hands and fingers with my mouth, and then I drop lower, once more. I know where I'm headed.

I ghost kisses along her abdomen, absently licking over her muscles and smiling as they dance beneath my ministrations.

"Quinn," she chokes out.

I slide further down, pushing her legs apart and settling between them. I can't help my smug smile as I look down at my prize, noting the dampness that's there just for me.

" _Quinn_."

It's a question and a statement, and I give in immediately, running my tongue along her folds, both of us moaning at the first contact.

"Quinn," she hisses, arching her back and rolling her hips towards me. I hold her right thigh with my left arm, keeping her still as I part her with my tongue, letting it caress the soft, wet flesh inside. I hum as I circle her clit, slipping a pair of fingers on my right hand inside her. She's warm, wet and inviting, and I let my tongue wander, tracing patterns of '8' before I spell her name.

I can't help my smile as she gasps and pants, her back arching and her hands twisting the sheets as she squirms and writhes under my touch.

"God, Quinn. Oh - yes - fuck, Quinn."

The words are loud and desperate, and I'm so glad we're home alone, right now. She's begging, and I pick up my pace, pumping my fingers faster to match the insistent rocking of her hips.

"Quinn, please," she moans, reaching down and sliding her fingers into my hair. I look up at the contact, meeting her eyes and watching as they glaze over. "Faster."

I oblige, and she moans loudly, biting her bottom lip to stem the sound. It's the moment I feel it: the slight tensing of her muscles. She's close, and I shift slightly, wrapping my lips around her clit and sucking gently.

She shatters a beat later, her entire body bucking as she screams her release. Her grip on my hair is painful, and I love that I've been able to do this to her, but I plan on doing so much more.

I ease up, slowing my thrusts and licks for a few moments, allowing her to recover... before I pick right up again. That should show her.

"Quinn," she cries, desperately, but it's too late for any protests, because she's coming all over again. Her hands reach for purchase on _anything_ as her body convulses and my name is ripped from her throat in a desperate plea.

This time, I let her come down completely. She whimpers softly when I pull out and lick my fingers. Her eyes blaze with the action, but she looks substantially _finished_. God, she's so fucking beautiful.

I press a last, lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh before I slide up her body. I don't go too far though, choosing to settle between her legs with my chin resting on my forearms across her abdomen. She looks a bit dazed from what I can see, and I can't help feeling rather smug.

 _I_ did that.

She runs a soft hand over my hair, but says nothing. I kind of like the thought that she's too spent to speak. Well, this is another way to get her to stop talking if ever all the other ways don't work. I can't help chuckling to myself.

"What?" she asks, a slight husk in her voice.

I shake my head at my own thoughts, and then turn serious. "Baby, I think we should talk about Prom."


	50. fifty

**Chapter Fifty**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _length of our love.  
_ _she was your eyes the day i met you.  
_ _remember, you and i._

 _._

" _Baby, I think we should talk about Prom_."

My breath hitches, a frown immediately taking hostage of my face. "Prom?" I murmur in surprise because, yes, I managed to forget all about it. My eyes drift to Quinn's face when she chuckles, her perfect eyes all-knowing and surprisingly clear. "What?"

"You forgot too, didn't you?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Too?" I question. " _You_ forgot?" That's near impossible.

She nods, her chin digging deliciously into my abdomen. "I was reminded today... when I got asked..."

"By Finn?"

She breathes out, her breath tickling my skin. "I think it's finally done," she says. "I think he's finally caught a clue. Rachel, I don't want him. I _really_ don't want him, okay? I want you. I love _you_ , and I need you to believe me."

"I do," she says. "I believe you, Quinn. If all that's happened these past few weeks has taught me anything, it's that I want nothing more than to be with you. I've never needed the reminder, but - " I stop, sighing. "I feel as if we've been on this endless rollercoaster of a relationship, and I just want..." I trail off.

"For it to be simple and easy," she finishes off.

"It's never going to happen, is it?"

She chuckles lightly, her body vibrating against mine. "I don't know," she confesses. "It might, or it might not. But, does it matter?"

My fingers slide through her hair again, smiling at the way she leans into my touch. Her eyes close, and she looks a bit like a cat. I'm sure, if I were to listen closely, I would hear her purring. It's not the first time I've made this comparison, and I'm sure there's some dirty pun to be made about our sexuality, but I'm too exhausted to think of it right now.

I'm... sated.

Completely and utterly satisfied.

Quinn shifts her arms and presses butterfly kisses across my abdomen. "Because, it doesn't matter to me," she says, mumbling against my skin. "Hard and painful, or simple and easy; I don't even care. I just want to be with you." She tilts her head to meet my gaze. "I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you, Rachel Berry. Would that be okay with you?"

I sigh dramatically. "I suppose I could make do," I say, and then tug her back up my body.

* * *

Consciousness comes to me slowly, and I blink a few times as I adjust to the dim light of my bedroom. From the low sunlight peeking in through my curtains, I can tell the sun is just setting, which means we haven't been asleep for very long.

 _We_.

Breathing a content sigh, I roll onto my side, prop my head up on my elbow and study the sheer beauty that is my girlfriend.

Quinn is stretched out on her stomach, her growing blonde hair spread everywhere, with the sheet resting low on her hips. She looks peaceful, almost like an innocent child. Her lips twitch occasionally, and I have to resist the urge to kiss them. It's a personal joy of mine to be able to wake her with a kiss, feeling her mouth spread into a smile against mine as she comes to.

I'll never tire of it.

I exhale quietly, my eyes tracing appreciatively over the definition of the lean muscles of her bare back, taking in the angry scratches marring her perfect skin. As much as I meant what I said when I told her I find her scars beautiful in the way they show how she has _survived_ ; I still hate that they're there at all. I _hate_ that she's had to go through that kind of pain. Any pain at all, really. I hate that she has something so... _visible_ that she's determined to hide.

I reach out to circle her wrist with my fingers, and then gently kiss the back of her hand. She seems to settle at the touch, and her lips stop twitching. She breathes out, as if just that brief moment of contact is enough to have her relaxing further into the mattress. I've never felt so whole and dismantled and disjointed and complete in my entire life, and I've meant every word I've ever said when it comes to how I feel about her. I love her with everything I have, and I honestly never want to live a life where she doesn't exist.

 _With me_.

I kiss her skin again, and again and again, until she shifts, making the most adorable mewling sound. As she wakes more and more, I trail kisses up her forearm and up her bicep towards her shoulder. She hums her content, and I feel her shift beneath me, rolling onto her back and sliding her hands over my bare hips.

Lifting my head to look at her, her eyes are hazy with affection and _happiness_. "Hi," I murmur, before my lips meet hers in a slow kiss, my body shifting to settle properly on top of hers, the skin to skin contact more than enough... foreplay. I pull away to look at her once more, and there's a lazy smile on her face. It's mesmerising, and I would do anything to keep it there.

"I love you," I say.

"Can I wake up like this for the rest of my life?" she whispers, her voice still laden with lingering sleep.

"Like what?"

"With you. Under you. Inside you."

At the sound of that, I kiss her, my tongue immediately seeking entrance. Her hands roam over my skin, unable to keep still, and I want to hold onto this moment for forever. There's so much more to come, I'm sure, but every single moment with Quinn is important. It's been that way since the very beginning, and I'm determined to acknowledge every single one.

Eventually, growing impatient, I move south, trailing my lips across her skin in search of my ultimate destination. Almost dutifully, Quinn spreads her legs, and I shift the sheet completely off of us as I settle in what is becoming my favourite place on earth. There's no time to waste and, placing feather-light open-mouthed kisses to inner thighs, I pull a finger through soft folds. I gasp when her hips buck, my name leaving her lips in that quiet reverent way that is so _Quinn_.

"Jesus, Quinn, you are so wet," I say, slightly mesmerised by the _feel_ of her. I don't think there will be a day that I get used to this. I never want there to be. If I can help it; I'm going to be marvelling at the sheer _wonder_ that is Quinn Fabray for the rest of my pitiful life.

My fingers tease and dip through warm heat, circling the tight knot and sending her hips jerking again.

Quinn's one hand finds mine splayed across her stomach, anchoring us both by twining our fingers. The contact is heavy, our bodies deciding and accepting that we're doing this together. Everything, _together_.

When my lips and tongue replace my fingers, licking and thrusting; she moans lowly and squeezes my hand hard. I think it's all she can do not to squeeze my head in desperation. She's practically gulping air, completely at my mercy, and I'm definitely drunk on the power that _I_ can turn Quinn Fabray into this quivering mess.

Who knew?

"Ra - chel!" she says, my name catching and hissed in two syllables. "God - fuck - I'm - "

The sound of her broken voice sets something alight within me, and I move into action. I shift upwards to kiss her soundly, and then hook Quinn's left leg over my shoulder, spreading her wider, and plunge two fingers in deep, immediately curling them. Those hips bounce, and I feel her nails dig into the small of my back. I kiss her again, my tongue matching the rhythm of my fingers.

Quinn is the one to pull back, burying her face in the crook of my neck as she pants my name and presses sporadic kisses to my tan skin.

I can feel how close she is, and my own thrusts start to lose their rhythm. "I love you," I say, our bodies rocking in a broken tempo. I blink once, twice, and then press my palm down hard.

Quinn gasps, almost shocked by the intensity of her orgasm, and I try not to cry.

She's just so... perfect.

In that messed up, unbelievably beautiful way.

She's too _much_ for this earth.

Not wanting this to be it, I slide back down her body, my fingers still in place, curling slightly. Quinn lets out a hiss, squirming to... get away, I think. She should know, by now, that she's not going anywhere.

I won't let her.

I'm holding onto her for forever.

It's almost magic what happens once I'm in position. All I have to do is suck hard on an already over-stimulated bundle of nerves, my own vision blurring, and Quinn comes apart at the seams. Her body tensing and back arching, Quinn desperately clutches for purchase on the sheets as her eyes slam shut. Her body trembles, a deep moan escaping, and it's without a doubt the most amazing, beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.

It's quiet _after_ , and I let Quinn come down from her high, my head resting on her inner thigh. I think I could live here, if she would let me.

Moments later, I hear Quinn's voice breaking through the haze of my own unsatisfied, pent-up arousal.

"Rachel?"

I hum in response, keeping my eyes closed.

"I'm hungry."

* * *

Without trying to draw too much attention to myself, I marvel at how at ease Quinn is in the kitchen. In _my_ kitchen. She moves with purpose, a certain confident air about her that makes me warm all over. I don't even think it's only to do with how ridiculously sexy she looks in a white tank top and red running shorts. The apron certainly helps, of course, but I think it's the sense that this is where we _belong_ that makes all the difference.

Quinn is making some kind of lentil soup that sounds complicated and delicious. I helped chop vegetables, but she's handling all the seasoning. I was once asked to add a pinch of salt to something, and we ended up having to order in. It's not my fault _they_ consider a pinch of salt to be something different to what I do. It was so salty, it was actually spicy. We're definitely never making that mistake again.

It's not as if I'm entirely hopeless in the kitchen. If _I'm_ cooking and cooking _alone_ , I can whip up a pretty decent meal. I just get... distracted easily. I suppose I'm like my Dad that way. He's a good... helper. Better at following kitchen orders. He and my Daddy balance each other out in that regard, kind of the way Quinn and I are learning to do. I know the two of us still have quite a ways to go, but we're travelling in the right direction, _together_.

Most of the time, at least.

Once dinner is ready, Quinn and I sit opposite each other at the kitchen table. It's the best position for us, at this time, because I find that I would much rather be eating Quinn than the soup in front of me. Just the thought makes me chuckle, and Quinn quirks a curious eyebrow in question.

"This is really good," I say in response, and Quinn doesn't look as if she believes me.

Still, sending me a thankful smile, she just digs into her own soup, and I'm afforded the opportunity to watch her. They'll never be a day when I won't marvel at the sheer act of _looking at her_.

Also, the mere fact that Quinn even expressed her own hunger is something I know I need to make a note of but not voice out loud. To her, at least. It's something small, yes, but it proves to me - and, hopefully, to Quinn as well - that she _is_ getting better. It's baby steps, some of them insignificant in the moment, but they're all going to add up to something phenomenal, and I'm so happy to see that there is progress.

My girlfriend is _hungry_.

I want to scream it from the rooftops.

It's really the little things, and I'm feeling this rolling wave of happiness that probably follows post-coital bliss.

Really, because, after the complete mess we found ourselves in just hours ago, I'm so relieved we've managed to take a step - however minuscule it is - in the right direction. At least, I think it's the right direction. I mean, we haven't actually _spoken_ about all that much, but we're not _not_ talking.

Maybe Quinn realises this, because she very purposefully chews the food currently in her mouth, and then speaks. Her voice is steady, though I can't mistake the slight tremble. "Rach," she says, keeping her eyes on her food. "Think we can talk about something?"

I can hear the severity in her tone, and I set down my spoon, giving her my full attention. "Anything, Quinn," I say. "You know that."

"I think - " she pauses. "I think I'd like to tell you a bit about Beth."

To my credit, I don't visibly react to her words. My eyes do widen ever so slightly, but that's it. I'm going to wait patiently, giving her the time to say the words she feels the need to.

"I cried for five days straight when they took her," she confesses after a moment. "I mean, I knew what was going to happen when she was born. Finn and I discussed it endlessly, and I knew I would get only one night with her." She leans back, her eyes unfocused as she remembers. "It all just happened so fast, even though it felt as if it was going in slow motion. I don't know but, sometimes, I think back on those few days, and it doesn't even feel as if it happened to me, you know. It's like it happened to someone else, and I was just there, watching it like some kind of film." She runs a hand over her hair, smoothing it down. My hands tend to do damage to the normal put-together Quinn Fabray. "I spent nine months with her," Quinn continues. "Sure, for the first six weeks of those months, I didn't even know about her, and then I spent another six weeks denying that she existed. And then, when I got kicked out, I spent _weeks_ resenting her; _hating_ her.

"At the time, I was still thinking about me and how it affects _my_ life, and that's not how a mother is supposed to think. I should have been thinking about her from the very beginning, and that was my first sign that I wasn't ready. _We_ weren't ready. Finn wanted to keep her. Can you imagine? What business do sixteen-year-olds have raising a baby when they can barely provide for themselves? Babies are expensive, and they need love and devotion and attention and care, and _have you seen the state of Finn's room_?" She laughs humourlessly. "I found all these reasons to justify why she had to go. We _had_ to give her away, Rachel. We had to."

It's as if she's still trying to convince herself that she made the correct decision, and I can't help thinking about that page in her notebook where she wrote out the same words over and over again. I don't know if she'll appreciate my reminding her that she did the right thing, so I remain silent and just listen.

"Do you know how I freaked out when I actually noticed her moving for the first time? Carole says that first-time mothers usually don't realise what's happening at first and, when I did, I cried for a full hour. I mean, my hormones were already out of whack and I cried over nearly everything anyway. Finn used to hide in his bedroom when I got started." She smiles to herself. "But then I felt her moving inside of me, and she was this real person, and I couldn't deny it anymore. I - I couldn't hate her after that. I don't think I ever truly did. I think I was just... mad, at myself. And at Finn. God, I hate him sometimes. Do you _know_ what pregnancy does to a woman's body?"

I actually smile at the sound of that, and her own smile turns into a shallow grin.

"Beth and I got along really well after that," Quinn says. "She was my constant companion, you know? Always there; always someone to talk to. I had no family, really, but I had Beth, who I learned to love in all the worst ways. Because, I knew, Rachel. I _knew_ , regardless of how many times I debated it; Beth would never be mine. I would never get to hold her and kiss her and love her and watch her grow into the lovely young woman I know she's going to be. I always knew. It would be too toxic for us. It would be too hard, and it would be unfair to her, and to us, and to Carole. There would be resentment. I knew it then, and I know it now, and yet it still doesn't stop me from believing that I should have kept her.

"Every day, Rachel. Every day, I wake up with this _feeling_. I know there's something missing. Like, a piece of my heart just isn't with me. It's in Cincinnati, firmly lodged in Beth's little body, covered by her blonde curls and hidden behind hazel eyes. And, it hurts. It _hurts_ like you wouldn't believe that I couldn't be enough for her. That I wasn't financially, emotionally and mentally ready for her. Because, it's not her fault. It's not, and I never want her to think it is. I never want her to think she was unwanted or some mistake that we needed to get rid of. God, I never want her to think she wasn't loved. Because she is. Today and every day; she is _so loved_ , and I know that it's always going to feel like this. It's kind of like my penance, having this piece of my heart just walking around outside of my body where _I_ can't even be the one to protect it."

There's such an earnest, pained look in her eyes that catches me off guard. Now, I've seen what Quinn looks like when she's in love: it's the look she sends my way almost constantly, but this is different. This is Quinn Fabray showing me the love she has for a baby girl who will never be hers. I can see it behind her hazel eyes, simmering and always present. It's the unconditional kind, and I find her capacity for it astounding. How could Finn ever think she didn't _feel_?

Quinn Fabray feels _everything_ , and she feels it so intensely.

I want nothing more than to comfort her, but I have no idea what to say or do. There are many things, sure, but I don't know how receptive she would be to any of those, right now. Just, this is all so heartbreaking. I've read her notebooks, and I've been allowed a glimpse into her thoughts behind everything to do with Beth, but nothing like this. This is today and every day.

This is Quinn Fabray, who gave birth to a baby girl but did not become a mother.

This is Quinn Fabray who hurts for that every single day.

I'm curious about a lot of other things: the actual birth, the adoption, the return to the Fabray home and so much more, but I hold my tongue. Quinn will tell me when she's ready. I've learned my many, many lessons.

Breathing a sigh, Quinn returns to her meal, which has probably gone cold by now.

I don't think I could eat another bite. "Quinn," I say, and her eyes snap towards mine. "I know you probably don't want to hear it from me, but you did the right thing. For yourself. For Finn. And, most importantly, for your daughter."

Quinn seems to contemplate my words, before she shrugs noncommittally. "Either way, I'm expected to burn in Hell, right?"

"Quinn," I chastise. "Don't say things like that."

"But, it's true, isn't it?"

Before I dive into my immediate rebuttal, I pause. I can hear something very specific in Quinn's voice. "Baby," I say, careful with my own tone; "you say that almost as if you _want_ to."

She doesn't respond at first. "I'm scared of Hell, Rachel," she says. "It's - it's one of the reasons I've never truly considered - " she stops, but I know what she's going to say. _Taking her own life_. She sighs. "I just don't think I've lived a life worthy of Heaven," she says.

"You're only eighteen, Quinn," I say. "You've barely even _lived_ enough life to make an accurate assessment."

Quinn presses her lips together, saying nothing.

"Wait here," I say, and then jump from my seat and sprint up the stairs in search of one of Quinn's notebooks. I hate seeing her look so desolate and lost, and all I want to do is put a smile on her face. There are various ways, of course, but I don't want it to be meaningless. It has to, possibly, come from _her_. "Ah hah," I say when I find what I'm looking for, and then race back down the stairs.

Quinn is exactly where I left her, her hands in her lap and her head bowed. I waste no time moving to sit beside her, sliding my chair close enough that I may as well be sitting on top of her.

"This is what you wrote when you were thirteen, Quinn," I say, opening the notebook to the specific page and my eyes dropping to read the words. "'Life itself is precious and should be cherished every single day of our lives. We should live it to the fullest and never let anything bring us down. I truly believe that life is the most special gift God could ever give us; we should be thankful.'" I look at her. "Baby, don't you see? Even then, you _knew_. Life has thrown you every kind of ugliness imaginable, but look at you. You're still here and you're still fighting. I know you don't feel it, but you deserve success and happiness and love and Heaven. You deserve it all, and it really doesn't matter if you get a little lost along the way, okay? I'm here now. Take my hand, and hold onto me. Let me lead you into the light."

Quinn waits only a beat before she's practically tugging me into her lap, and I'm straddling her. "I love you," she says. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

Needless to say, the second her lips touch mine, all talk of life and love and babies is forgotten.

And, well, so is the rest of our dinner.

* * *

Quinn and I barely have time to get dressed when we hear my fathers arrive. This entire Friday night has felt like our first weekend together. Just, you know, with the added danger of actually getting caught because the only way Quinn and I actually hear them is _because_ we're having sex on the kitchen table. God, my Daddy would never forgive us for this.

It's a scramble to find our clothing, throw the garments on, and then retake our seats as if we haven't just been moaning and panting on the table at which we eat. As a family.

Wow.

Maybe we _are_ going to burn in Hell.

Quinn works on straightening our placemats and has to retrieve her spoon from the floor. "Your hair," she hisses, and I flatten my own just in time to see my Dad practically skipping into the kitchen.

He frowns at the sight of us. "You're having dinner only now?" he asks, glancing at his wrist for the time.

Quinn smiles at him, her cheeks a little flushed. "Hello to you too, Hiram," she says.

He chuckles lightly. "Hi, Quinn," he says easily. Then: "Is there any food left? My meal wasn't all that appetising." He pauses. "Or am I imposing on date night?" he asks warily. "It's just that I'm starving, and whatever you were cooking up smells good."

Quinn laughs, and there's that breathless quality to it that I absolutely adore. It's something sort of new, only existing since her car accident, and I'm determined to hold onto it. I want it to exist for forever. I want her and us and our love to exist for all of eternity.

I realise how... childish that sounds, but I'm in this in all the ways that should terrify an eighteen-year-old, and I've come to accept my position in life and love. It's been a rollercoaster to get to this point in our lives, and I don't even care that nothing about it has been simple of easy. I wouldn't change a thing, I don't think, because this is where I am. I'm sitting in my kitchen with my Dad and my girlfriend laughing over something or the other, and it's everything I've ever wanted and needed.

I suppose it helps when I feel my Daddy's gentle hands on my shoulders. I tilt my head upwards to look at him, and there's an actual smile on his face. His eyes are still sad, but he's smiling, and that's something of a miracle these days. I think it's to do with Quinn and my Dad, but it also has a little something to do with me as well.

I gently pat his hand on my right shoulder. "Hi, Daddy," I say, smiling up at him.

He bends to kiss the top of my head, and then pauses to survey the room in all its glory. I bite my bottom lip as realisation slowly settles over his features, his eyes taking in the flush of our cheeks, our rumpled clothing and the haphazard setting of the table. _Three, two, one: cue the overwhelming mortification_. "Sweetheart," he says, entirely too calm. "Were you having sex on my kitchen table?"

* * *

While Quinn is at cheerleading practice on Saturday morning, I put in some time at the studio, which is mainly just to get myself out of the house. I have this growing sense that there's something my dads want to talk to me about, and I just know none of us is going to like it. Whether it's about Quinn or anything else, I'm doing all I can to put it off for as long as possible, and I just about manage to convince myself I'm doing a good job with it... until I get home to find them both waiting for me in the living room.

The house is silent. That part isn't odd, but I can immediately tell that Quinn isn't home - when she's supposed to be - and it's probably, definitely by design. If Santana, Brittany, Kurt, Blaine and I make up the Quinn management team, then she and my dads are part of the Rachel _conspiracy_ team.

I'm - sorely - tempted to dash up the stairs and avoid all this upcoming drama. Quinn and I have _just_ managed to survive a hiccup, and we still haven't even made a proper decision about Prom yet. I mean, we _were_ distracted, but it's coming up soon, and I think it'll be a good idea for us to have that all sorted out before we get to school on Monday. I imagine there will be people lining up to ask her.

"Sweetheart," my Daddy says at my obvious hesitation. "Do you mind coming in here a minute? Your father and I need to talk to you about something."

Sighing heavily, I make a mental note to have those words strung together in that order abolished from our collective vocabulary. For one family, we really do say the words too often. It's almost like the Berry eye-roll, synonymous and ingrained in us all.

Including Quinn.

Slowly, I make my way into the living room and settle on the couch, dropping my gym bag onto the floor with a thud. At this moment, all I really want to do is have a nice, long bath (with Quinn), crawl into bed (with Quinn) and sleep for at least forty hours (with Quinn.)

Still, being the dutiful daughter I am, I give my dads my undivided attention.

The two of them exchange a brief look, an abundance of conversation occurring in that barely-a-second. It's my Dad who starts talking, clearly more... composed about whatever it is they wish to discuss. "Sweetheart, we'd like to talk to you about your grandfather."

If I'm being honest with myself, I have to admit that I actually forgot about him. I think I boxed him up with all the other unpleasant things to happen on the day of Aunt Marianne's funeral. Sometimes, I even have to remind myself that Kurt and Blaine are no longer together. Without my say-so, my eyes drift down to my Daddy's hands, where the swelling has very clearly reduced, and he shifts them uncomfortably.

I snap my eyes back up, looking at my Dad. "What about him?" I ask, trying to sound casual. I don't know if it's working, and the actress in me cringes at my inability to remain unaffected by all of this.

"He - he has expressed interest," he starts, and I frown. "In you."

My frown deepens.

"He has requested to meet you," my Dad eventually says, and it sounds and looks as if it visibly pains him to voice the words.

"Oh."

It's the best I can muster, and it might be the wrong thing to say because both of their faces fall slightly. Maybe it sounds as if I'm actually considering the idea, which, maybe, I might be. I don't know. I've never really thought about it. "Why?" I ask. "Why would he want to meet me _now_?"

They exchange another look, and I wait patiently.

"Well," my Daddy eventually says, sounding utterly defeated; "he didn't actually know that you existed until he saw you at the funeral."

"Oh."

Endless years of schooling, and it's all I can come up with. It _almost_ brings a smile to my face, but this entire conversation isn't even remotely amusing. I wish Quinn was here. She would know what to say and do, and I'm momentarily and irrationally angry with her for leaving me to face this without her. We're a _couple._ We're supposed to be doing things like this together.

"Rachel," my Dad prompts. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

I clear my throat. "So, he wants to meet me?" she questions. "Just me? Why? What should the fact that I exist even matter when he hasn't bothered to contact Daddy? What's his angle? What could he possibly want from me? I mean, I'm not even remotely related to him. What does he want? Why? Why are you even telling me any of this? You _really_ could have just kept it to yourselves, and we could have all gone on with our lives with my being none the wiser." I suck in a breath, clearly more affected by this sudden revelation than I thought.

My Daddy clears his throat. "In our experience with these kinds of things; children tend to _change_ things," he explains. "It was my decision not to tell my family of your birth. Aunt Marianne agreed with me. All I've ever wanted was to protect you from them, and I _never_ would have imagined that they would - " he stops suddenly, unsure what to say. "All I've ever wanted was to protect you."

I take in a deep breath and release it slowly. "What would you have me do?" I ask.

"No, Rachel," my Dad says. "Sweetheart, the decision is yours, okay? There's no obligation to do anything. You can meet him, you can not. You can meet him, and then choose for that to be it, or you can have a relationship with him if you'd like." He closes his eyes for a moment. "I imagine you have a lot of questions about that half of your family, and it's always pained your father and I that we've been unable to provide you with all the answers."

I swallow audibly, and look at my Daddy. "Would it hurt you?" I ask.

"This isn't about me."

There are so many things I could say to argue that, but I don't. "Would it hurt you?" I repeat.

He sighs. "I don't know." Which, possibly, means _yes_ , and I think he's hurt enough in his lifetime. They all have. _We_ all have.

"Can I think about it?" I eventually say, cringing slightly at my Daddy's facial expression.

"Of course," my Dad says. "Perhaps it's best if we just give you his number, and you can contact him yourself if you decide to meet with him?"

I nod. "I think that's best," I say, fishing for my phone in my pocket. I unlock the screen to a text from Quinn. Of course.

 _Quinn: So, I suspect you might be a little mad at me, but you're on my mind (you always are). San says 'Sup, and Britt is baking up a storm. I promise I'll make it up to you (in as many ways as you would like.)_

I sigh. I don't even know how I'm supposed to stay mad at her. She's not even _here_ , and my misplaced ire is already crumbling. I know she's going to be the person I talk to about all of this, anyway.

Once my Dad reads out the number for me and I save it as J. Holt, I start replying to Quinn as my mind drifts. Holt, huh? All this time, I didn't even know my Daddy's maiden name. I frown. Is it still referred to as a maiden name if it's a man? Probably not.

It's not lost on me that both he and Aunt Marianne chose different surnames.

 **Berry: I do hate you a little for leaving me to the wolves like this.**

 _Quinn: They asked. I'm sorry. I love you. X_

 **Berry: You can come home now. I need a hug and a kiss and... maybe some other things.**

 **Berry: Also, you'd better have cookies with you.**

I look up when someone clears his throat, and I look expectedly at my Daddy.

"Also," he says, sounding slightly amused; "you know, while we're here, I think we should probably have a little discussion about the issue of fornicating on the communal furniture."

Huh.

Maybe Quinn should hold off on coming home. _My_ current mortification wouldn't even compare to hers.

* * *

"I think you should run with Finn."

Quinn does a literal double-take, her eyes snapping towards me. "Excuse me?"

"For Prom King and Queen," I clarify. "I think you should run with him. I know he offered."

Quinn's expression is... incredulous. "Are you - what is - _Rachel_." She shakes her head as if she's clearing it, and the homework she's currently working on is suitably abandoned. "Is this some kind of test?" she asks cautiously. "Because, I don't know if you were there, but we _already_ had an entire blowup over _Finn_. Why on earth would I put us through that again? Why would you _want_ me to?"

I bristle ever so slightly at her accusation. "It's not a test, Quinn. i wouldn't do that," I say. "I actually resent that."

She waits patiently, her expression unchanging.

"I just - I know you want to win," I tell her. "I know you're acting as if it's not important to you - and maybe it's not as important as it once was - but you still want to win Prom Queen. I know you do, and I want that for you. You _can_ win, and you _will_ win. Your chances will be better with him."

Quinn starts to shake her head. "But I - "

"Quinn," I gently interrupt. "It's okay."

"No," she says firmly. "It's _not_ okay." She forces herself to take a calming breath, and I imagine I must have pinched a nerve with my suggestion. At least she's not yelling or anything like that, though the vein in her forehead is threatening to appear. "I don't _need_ Finn to win, and I'm really irritated that you and he both think that."

I press my lips together, replaying my own words in my head and cringing. "If I gave you that impression, I didn't mean to," I say, shifting the sheet music in front of me out of the way and crawling across my - our - bed towards her. "Of course, I know you don't need Finn to win, but even you have to acknowledge that the probability is higher with a running mate with a popularity level of Finn Hudson."

Quinn's nostrils flare. "I don't care," she says. "I'm not running with him, Rachel. _If_ I'm running at all, it'll be alone. I don't need Finn to win, and I sure as hell don't need any other _boy_ either. Okay? If I lose, then it's fine. I don't care about that, but if I can't confirm who _I_ am and who _we_ are, then I'm sure as hell not going to deny it either. You and I are in a relationship, and I would much rather do this entire thing alone than a single part of it without you, okay?"

There's so much truth and conviction in her voice that it has me propelling forward and falling into her immediately. She loses her balance on the edge of the bed, and we both go tumbling onto the floor, my left palm receiving a pretty neat carpet burn. My laugh is drowned out by Quinn's groan.

And then moan.

I realise belatedly where my thigh has landed and, okay, so, our discussion is clearly over. There's a shifting of limbs and a meeting of eyes.

Yip.

Discussion definitely over.

And Quinn proves it to me a minute later when her tongue slides into my mouth and her hand works its way between my legs.

* * *

J. Holt's contact haunts me all of Sunday. Quinn hasn't asked me anything about what my dads discussed with me, and I think she's waiting for me to bring it up. I'm convinced she already knows more about the situation than I do, which would make me a little mad, but it's to my advantage now. Quinn will tell me all the things my dads won't, particularly if I ask. I don't know if it's to do with our communication misunderstandings in the past or if it's to do with how we've grown as a couple, but we don't hide as much as we used to.

"What did my dads tell you about my grandfather?" I ask, the moment Quinn gets back from the evening service at church. She's started going to the later service in the hopes of avoiding her mother and, well, other people as well. It's less crowded and she doesn't have to keep up appearances for them anymore. She doesn't _want_ to anymore, she says, which means a hell of a lot when it comes to our future in Lima.

We're coming out, and we're coming out soon.

If Quinn is surprised by the question, she doesn't say it. As if I haven't spoken at all, she toes off her Oxford wedges and sets them neatly beside my desk, peels off her white cardigan, and then comes to lie next to me on our bed. _Our_ bed. For the longest time, she just lies on her side, her eyes on me, and says nothing.

"Quinn," I prompt.

"I love you," she says. "Hiram loves you. LeRoy loves you. Aunt Marianne loves you. Brittany loves you. Santana does too, even though she'd rather eat needles than admit it. Kurt loves you. Blaine, Tina, all of Glee. We love you, Rachel, even if we don't always show it in the ways you deserve. We love you for _you_ , and not for who you represent."

"What did they tell you?" I press.

"I don't know how to be objective here," she confesses. "I'm with you, always, but I know what it's like to have my parents want nothing to do with me, and I can't even imagine what I would be feeling if they suddenly decided that they wanted to know _my children_ , you know?"

I clench my jaw, my mind ticking. "It's going to hurt him, isn't it?"

"James Holt has _always_ been hurting him," Quinn says, and she practically spits his name. "I think - I think it would be different if he wanted to meet you _both_ ," she says. "But he wants to see only you, and I don't know how _I_ feel about that, so I don't want to say anything to influence your decision."

I reach out with my right hand to cup her cheek. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" Before she can respond, I shift forward and press a kiss to her lips. "I love you in all the big ways, Quinn. And, whenever I think, how can it possibly get any more than this; I love you in all the small ways too." I sigh. "I don't want to hurt him."

"I know."

"I just want to _know_."

"I know."

I close my eyes. "Is he going to hate me?"

"Of course not."

"Will you come with me?"

"I'll follow you anywhere."

I do my level best not to make a comment about New York, and rather just kiss her again. "I love you, Quinn Fabray."

"I love you, too."

* * *

Quinn agrees with me that we probably shouldn't mention my intentions towards my grandfather to either of my dads. Not until I can figure out just what he hopes to get out of this entire thing, anyway. According to my own feelings; I think I wouldn't mind whichever way our first meeting goes. I've survived this long without him, and I think I'll be perfectly fine to keep going. I have a family who loves me.

I have Quinn.

Who's about ready to murder a person.

It's almost as if her rejection of Finn has opened the floodgates, and every boy with half a smidge of courage is convinced that _he_ is going to be the lucky one to whom she finally says yes. It's kind of funny to watch her get exasperated and flustered and annoyed because, well, she's ridiculously sexy.

And she's mine.

She practically throws herself into her chair for Glee like a petulant child, and I have to resist the urge to pat the top of her head. "I never thought I would be so relieved for Glee," she says. "And I have an extra Cheerios practice after this. Just, _anything_ to keep them away from me."

I lean into her. "Aw, poor baby," I tease.

She glares at me. "Don't think I haven't seen boys coming up to you," she points out.

"They have," I allow; "but it's mainly to ask if _you_ have a date yet."

She growls lowly. "I'm sorry."

I shrug. "I did happen to get a few invites out of it, so it's not all bad," I say. "As long as you don't start saying yes to anyone, I won't either."

She twists her body to face me. "I'm saying yes to only you," she says. Then: "Yes, yes, yes, oh, Rachel, yes."

My eyes widen in alarm, and I quickly look around to see if anyone has heard her, and she bursts out laughing. "You are the absolute worst, Quinn Fabray."

Quinn spends the rest of Glee thoroughly amused, and I'm just glad that the weight of the day seems to have left her for the time being. She's here and she's present and participating and we might even be onto something for Nationals. We're going to have to prepare two separate, equally brilliant, setlists for the competition, in the hopes that we do, in fact, make it past the first round.

Once Mr Schuester dismisses us, the club disperses. Quinn shoots me a grin, and then leaves with Santana and Brittany for practice. I plan on waiting them out in the choir room, just practicing some potential solo songs for Nationals. The four of us are supposed to have dinner together after their practice, and after Brittany has some odd, elusive meeting with Coach Sylvester. Santana intends to be with her in case the crazy woman tries to get Brittany to agree to being shot out of a canon again, and I have a passing fantasy of finding Quinn in the Cheerios' locker room and doing dirty things to her.

I shake my head to focus, and get lost in the music. There's a safety to be found between the music notes and bars, and I hold onto that as tightly as I can. I'm in the middle of Celine Dion's _Taking Chances_ when I realise I'm no longer alone, and I close off the note with a frown as I turn around.

"Hey, San," I say, practically startling at Santana's surprising presence. I wasn't expecting to see her and, from the sight of her, it must be for a very specific reason. She looks shell-shocked, paler than I've ever seen her, and my thoughts immediately jump to Quinn.

No.

What's happened?

I open my mouth to ask the question, but she cuts me off before I can get a word out.

"I think you and I need to have a little talk," she says, and she sounds equal parts somber and vindictive.

The words do nothing to settle my unease. Quinn might not be hurt or in any immediate danger, but whatever this is about... it definitely involves Quinn.


	51. fifty-one

**Chapter Fifty-One**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _you will drown if you do not have boundaries.  
_ _they are not optional.  
_ _this structure counts on your inability to say no.  
_ _mean no.  
_ _they take no from our first breath.  
_ _go back and return it to your mouth.  
_ _your heart. your light._

 _._

I've just packed away my towel in my gym bag when Santana arrives at the locker room. I can tell it's her from the sound of her footsteps, so I don't bother to look up as I make a grab for my phone where a text has just arrived from Rachel. A small smile tugs at my lips as I open it... which disappears the moment I read the words.

What the -

"Hey," I say to Santana, somewhat distracted by Rachel's text. It's cryptic at best, stating that she's not feeling well, she's gone home and I should enjoy my evening with Santana and Brittany. I know I should be reading between the lines, but I'm not sure what I've done in the last three hours to warrant such a text. My mind first goes to something to do with her grandfather, which makes me wonder why she's choosing _not_ to discuss it with me when I'm the only person she _does_ talk to about it.

Gosh, when do I get to get off this rollercoaster?

"Quinn."

I look up at the sound of Santana's voice, not recognising the tone. Why is she using my full name? "San," I whisper, sensing something severe. "San, what's wrong? What happened?"

"It's Britt," she says, and I jump up in shock, automatically thinking the worst. She practically recoils at my movement, and I absently acknowledge that I'm probably overreacting. It's just - it's _Brittany_. And, really, what _more_ could this year throw at us?

"What's wrong?" I question anyway, slight panic in my tone of voice.

"She's not hurt. She - "

"What, Santana?" I press. "What the hell happened?"

"She's - she's not graduating."

I frown. "What?"

"She's not graduating, Quinn."

I feel as if I've been slapped. "But - but, no," I say, always so coherent. "No," I repeat, more firmly. "How? It's impossible. We made sure."

Santana shakes her head, tears pooling in her eyes. "She - she fell behind," she explains. "She couldn't keep up. She didn't say anything. I - I lost track of her because I've been too busy with - " she stops suddenly, and I feel as if I've been slapped _again_. Harder and with a heavier hand. I would know.

"With me," I finish for her, instantly deflating. "You've been so busy with me." I drop my phone onto my gym bag, forgetting about Rachel's text, and lift both hands to run through my hair. "Oh, my God." I force myself to take steady breaths. "No, there has to be something we can do," I say, looking at Santana; pleading with her. "We can make it up. There has to be extra credit we can get."

Santana jerks her head from side to side. "There's nothing, Quinn," she says. "Coach tried. There's _nothing_."

"No," I argue. "We'll figure something out. There has to be - "

"Stop it!" she cuts me off. "God, would you just _stop_? Don't you think you've done _enough_?"

This time, _I_ recoil. "Santana," I say.

"Don't you see?" she hisses. "It's _over_ , Quinn. _We're_ over."

"What are you talking about?"

"She's going to break up with me," she says. "She's going to break up with me, and that's going to be it. We had _plans_. We're supposed to be going to New York _together_. All of us. We're supposed to be there together. How - why - this - " her voice keeps catching on her sobs, and I automatically take a step towards her, even though I'm unsure what I'm going to say or do.

It's all moot, anyway, because Santana holds out her hands to halt my movement.

"No," she says. "Just, no."

"San," I whisper. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean - "

Her eyes flash dangerously. "Don't," she says again. "Fucking hell, Quinn, this isn't your _fault_!" she practically spits. "Not everything is, you know! I know you can be a little self-absorbed, but this is a little much, don't you think?"

"But you just said that - "

"Stop!"

I register my own confusion but I'm unsure what I'm supposed to do with it. Maybe I should just let her vent or whatever. Maybe I should let her hit me. She would probably enjoy that, and it'll make us both feel better. Cringing internally, I file away that thought to discuss is with Dr McMaster in our next session. It seems we're going to have a lot to talk about on Wednesday.

"San," I try again. "It doesn't have to be over."

Her eyes meet mine. "You don't get it," she says and, yes, I definitely don't get it. It's as if she's just given up, and it's not a look I would normally associate with Santana Lopez.

"Then, explain it to me."

"I know you have it in your head that you're some kind of burden to the rest of us, but you're not," she says, and the sincerity in her voice catches me off guard. I definitely wasn't expecting to hear _that_. "You're our sanity, Quinn." At my frown, she shakes her head. "Beyond Britt, I have a sense of purpose because of you. I get to take care of you, and I get to be needed by you, and I have never resented you for it."

I have absolutely no idea what's happening right now, so I just stay silent.

"Do you believe me when I say that?"

I automatically nod, which seems to be enough for her. For now, at least.

Then: "Do you know why this is all so fucked up?"

It's rhetorical, so I don't bother responding.

"There's a part of me that's - " she stops suddenly, and her face twists into a combination of panic and pain that deepens my frown. "She's not graduating, Quinn. She's not coming with me to New York, and - " she stops again. "I need you to understand."

And, just like that, I start to feel uneasy. "Understand what?"

"Why I did what I did."

Realisation hits me then. Square in the chest. My eyes drift down to my bag where my phone is perched, and I feel my heart rate rise. "What did you do?" I suddenly ask. "Santana, what did you do?"

When she doesn't respond, I grab for my phone with the intention of - what? What am I going to do?

Santana's gaze falls on mine and, for the first time, we truly _see_ each other. "I don't get to be with my girlfriend next year," she says; "and it baffles me why you would _choose_ to be without yours."

"San?"

"I thought you said you already told her about New York."

I shift my weight in discomfort. "I did."

"And yet she was _so very_ surprised to learn about your full-ride to Columbia."

I clench my jaw, my eyes slipping shut for a long moment. "Is this it? You blame me for Brittany not graduating, so you're sabotaging _my_ relationship?"

Santana shakes her head, her tears pooling her eyes once more. "I just _tried_ to explain it to you," she says. "You know, for a genius, you're really fucking stupid, you know that?"

I frown in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You're supposed to be in New York _with us_ , you idiot!" she shouts, the words practically bursting out of her. "If I can't have my girlfriend with me in New York, then I sure as hell want my best friend!"

This entire conversation feels as if it's happening to someone else, and I'm just playing catchup.

"Like I said," she says as she starts to leave. "Fucking clueless."

It's only three minutes after she's left that I realise I don't actually have a way to get home. If I even want to. I can barely work out if I have a right to be angry or not.

Do I feel angry? Hurt? Confused?

I'm definitely confused.

And, okay, I'm a little pissed off that I'm now stranded at school because my girlfriend and best friend are -

I don't even know what's happening right now.

For the longest moment, I'm unsure what to do. I just stand there, my mind running a mile a minute. As far as I know, I'm probably the last person at school, which leaves me with a dilemma. I suppose I could call someone - Kurt or Blaine - but I _really_ don't want to have to explain why the two most important people in my life are mad at me right now.

And, frankly, I wouldn't even know _how_ to explain.

Which, essentially, makes the decision for me.

* * *

It's late when I finally get to the Berry home, my limbs aching and my head not faring any better. One would think the long walk would allow me some time to think and plan and make decisions, but I've got nothing. If anything, I'm a little more pissed at both Rachel and Santana, both of them just _leaving_. We could have talked about it like the adults we're masquerading as. Seriously.

I stand on the front porch for endless minutes, trying to get my breathing under control. Since my accident, I haven't quite been able to regain all my fitness, but I'm on my way there. I intend to spend the summer doing proper training for when I get to Yale.

Because I'm going to Yale.

It's not up for discussion.

Breathing a sigh, I push my key into the lock and turn. For whatever reason, I feel a certain chill descend over me as I step through the door. I'm definitely not going to like whatever's about to happen, but I have no choice other than to face it.

We're trying to do that these days. No more avoiding things. Dr McMaster would be proud.

I drop my bags on the floor in the entrance hall, and then make my way to the kitchen to find Rachel, Hiram and LeRoy sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of dinner. Despite the untruths in her text, Rachel _does_ look ill, and I suspect it has nothing to do with a physical ailment.

Hiram looks surprised to see me, and my flushed cheeks must set off alarms. "Quinn!" he exclaims. his brow furrowed. "If we knew you would be home, we would have waited," he says. "Rachel said you were having dinner with Brittany and Santana."

My eyes flick Rachel's way for a moment, but she's decidedly not looking at me. "I didn't end up going," I say. "Santana and I kind of had a disagreement."

LeRoy's eyes narrow. "How did you get home?"

"I walked," I answer with a shrug, and then make my way towards the fridge to get a _cold_ bottle of water. I can hear murmuring behind me, but I'm not paying attention.

I don't really know how I'm supposed to handle this entire situation. Are we actually going to talk about it, or am I just supposed to let her stew until she can figure out a way to get over it? She hasn't actually brought it up - not even in her 'text' - and I don't want to be the one to do it.

Okay, so, maybe Dr McMaster won't be _that_ proud.

It doesn't take me long to figure out that letting it stew is _definitely_ not a good idea. Still, I know I won't be the first one to bring it up. If she wants to discuss it, then I'm all ears. Until then, I'm going to figure out what I'm going to about -

I sigh.

I spin around to face the kitchen table. "Hiram?" I say, and he snaps to attention. "Where are my car keys?"

I'm awarded with three separate frowns, but Hiram eventually responds. "I put them on the tray on the piano."

With a nod in thanks, I head out of the kitchen in search of the keys. I'm not really sure what my plans are, but today just showed me that I'm going to have to suck it up and get behind the wheel. If I intend to live an independent, self-sufficient life here and at Yale, then I'm going to have to be able to take care of myself in every way imaginable.

Transportation is very important.

Well, lots of things are important, but I'm going to start with this.

Fortunately, nobody follows me, and I'm able to retrieve the foreign keys from the top of the piano, grab my phone and purse from my bag, and then head to the garage without encountering any Berry family members. Maybe they realise my desire to be left alone. For whatever reason.

Steeling myself for what's about to come, I step into the garage and fight off the wave of anxiety. I'm okay. I can do this. I'm Quinn Fabray. Of course, I can do this.

I move towards the car, looming and large, dark and oppressive. From what I do remember of the accident, my car was unsalvageable, and yet I'm looking at a carbon copy of the very car that possibly saved my life. This bulky sore-eye - okay, it's actually a nice-looking car, if I'm being perfectly honest - withstood as much impact as it could, and I ended up with working legs and a collapsed lung. Things definitely could have been worse.

With a press to the car's remote, I unlock the car and shuffle around to the driver's side. I've ridden in the passenger's side before, mainly with Hiram, because Rachel isn't a fan of from where this car came. I'm not either, but it _is_ one less thing to worry about for the future.

 _If_ I can get myself to drive it, that is.

Dr McMaster and I have been dealing with just this thing in our recent sessions. I'm starting to feel a little ridiculous having to be chauffeured around everywhere and, while people say it's okay, it _can't_ be.

I don't want to be a burden and, after today, I think I definitely need to gain back some of my independence.

Particularly when I intend to be alone at Yale.

As far as it being the first time I'm getting behind the wheel of any car, I think I do quite well. I manage to put the key in the ignition and turn it to switch on the lights.

It's as far as I get, though, because, a beat later, my hands are gripping the steering wheel tight enough for my knuckles to turn white and my eyes are tightly shut. I know, from the moment I can't get my breathing under control, that this isn't happening tonight. No way in hell.

The second I come to that conclusion, I throw open the driver's door, and practically throw myself out of the seat, landing in a breathless heap on the concrete floor. My mind is flashing with memories of shattered glass, crunching metal and the smell of burning tyres. I suck in breath after breath in an attempt to gather my wits.

I didn't expect to succeed - not really - but I also didn't expect to fail so spectacularly. I'm almost embarrassed, and then completely mortified when I realise I'm crying. God, I'm pathetic.

I crawl towards the wall and sit with my back leaning against it, my knees drawn to my chest and my body trembling. Completely and utterly pathetic. I can practically hear Coach Sylvester spitting the words right into my ear, and it doesn't help me regain composure at all. In the end, only _time_ does and, eventually, my breathing slows and my heart rate steadies.

I'm okay.

For the most part, I don't know how much time has passed, but it's enough for my complete and utter failure to turn into a fit of _rage_. It comes out of nowhere and, before I know it, I'm up on my feet and kicking at the back tyre as hard as I can. Which, in hindsight, is the absolute _worst_ thing to do because it hurts like a little bitch, and I actually cry out.

"Fucking hell!" I yell in equal parts anger and pain, and then slam the door with all the force I can manage. I hit the side of my fist against the metal, and hiss at the impact, fresh tears springing to my eyes. Today has just been a completely _shit_ day, and I just want to crawl into bed and let the darkness protect me.

For the first time in a long time, the absence of light just seems safer, because it's a place where Rachel _isn't_.

I need to get out of here.

Abandoning the keys in the car, I leave the garage, that pathetic feeling turning into defeat with a hint of self-loathing. What I would do for this entire day not to exist. I mean, it didn't even start off all that well. Besides waking up wrapped around Rachel, the morning was just _awful_. Prom-fever has hit, and I'm apparently on the list of potential dates for all the wide-eyed hopefuls of our school. I know I shouldn't complain - I _should_ be flattered - but there's only so much a person can take.

I start walking.

I know exactly where I'm going, so, really, it's more of a march.

Well, it is, until I'm hit by a wave of exhaustion, both the physical and emotional kind. It settles over me, and makes my limbs feel heavier and my chest feel tight. I slow my pace considerably, and then _stroll_. I try to use the time to sort out my thoughts, but I get to Santana's house before I can make sense of anything. I waste no time in going up to the front door and ringing the doorbell. I'm comfortable enough here to go straight in, but I'm unsure where Santana and I actually stand right now. I'm pissed off, yes, but the part of me that isn't _fucking clueless_ is desperately trying to understand.

By some miracle, Santana is the one to answer the door.

And, at the sight of me, she starts to close it again.

"No," I say, raising my voice and putting my hand on the door to stop her from closing it. "No," I repeat, a bit more heatedly. She has to know I mean business. "This is _not_ how we're going to do this, do you understand me? You have a problem, you come to _me_. You _don't_ go to my girlfriend to try to stir the pot, okay? I know you think all I see these days is Rachel, but you're my best friend. Well, you're one of them, and I hate that you're hurting, but - "

"How did you get here?" she suddenly asks, cutting me off.

I flounder, surprised by her interruption. "What?"

"How the fuck did you get here?" she asks again, looking past my body, as if she's expecting to find the answer behind me. Which, well, she does. "Shit, Q, did you _walk_?"

"What?" I ask, suddenly irritated. "When my girlfriend _and_ my best friend left me stranded at school? Why would I _ever_ do such a thing?"

Santana frowns. "You _did_ walk."

"I needed the time to think."

"Bullshit."

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one who gets to call bullshit tonight," I snap. "Firstly, you're an asshole for attempting to use Rachel against me, and we are _definitely_ going to have a talk about that. Secondly, when have you _ever_ shied away from talking to me about anything? You should have told me what was going on with Britt. We would have figured something out. And, thirdly, like, just, what the actual fuck, Santana?"

Her eyes narrow, and it takes every bit of _my_ composure not to look away. Sometimes, she's like a caged animal, and I have to be careful not to push too hard too fast or I'm going to end up with claw marks.

"Jesus," Santana finally says. "What _happened_ to you?"

To be honest, I don't have an answer for that, at all. Even if I did, I doubt I would be able to get the words out.

When she next speaks, she sounds utterly defeated, and it's a tone of voice that doesn't match Santana Lopez's fiery personality. "We both know Berry is the only reason you'll come to New York," she says. "It wouldn't be enough for _me_ to ask you."

I clench my jaw, forcing myself not to respond.

"I didn't realise the situation with Britt was so bad until it was too late," she says, and she sounds equal parts guilty, irritated and just plain livid. "She hid it from me. She tried to do it all by herself, and I'm just so fucking mad at her." Her voice falters near the end, and I have the nearly-irrepressible urge to hug her.

I don't.

Santana and I don't hug.

It's too... weird.

Her gaze meets mine, her eyes stormy. "And, this is what you wanted."

I sputter. "Excuse me?"

"You told me it's what you want, Q," she says tiredly, and I feel it in my very bones. We're both just so _tired_. "When you were in New York, you called me and told me New York was what you wanted. You told me Rachel is the girl you're going to marry and that you wanted the four of us to be together in New York."

My brow creases. "I don't remember that."

"That's probably because you were drunk."

I swallow audibly. "And I tell the truth when I'm drunk."

She nods once, sighing. "You asked me, wouldn't it be _so_ cool if we were all in New York together? You said it would be amazing. Just the four of us taking the world by storm and being _happy_ and in love and _free_. You said we should do that, but you're going to Yale, remember?" She clenches her teeth, her gaze hardening as she replays the conversation that she very clearly remembers. "It's what you decided, I told you, and then you said you wouldn't be in New York with us if you went to Yale." There's something broken in her next words, and I feel tears spring to my eyes. "You asked me if I was going to leave you."

My breath hitches.

"But, I'm not even the one doing the leaving, am I?"

I shake my head, tempted to make her stop talking.

"No, Quinn," she says, her tone cold. " _You're_ the one leaving _me_."

I realise, in this moment, that the pronouns are very important. There's no 'us' anymore. This is between me and Santana, and I don't think either of us is truly ready for it.

" _You_ said we have to be happy together. _You_ said we're going to be happy and in love, and we're going to get married and have lots of babies and live happily ever after, and you made me promise you. You made me promise I wouldn't leave you, and now everything is just a fucking mess!" She forces herself to take a calming breath. "God, you're so fucking annoying!"

I blink, slightly miffed, before I say, "And, apparently, clueless as well."

"Damn straight," she breathes, sounding painfully amused and apathetic. "So, the way things are playing out; it's going to be only me, Kurt and Berry in New York," she says sadly. "That was never part of the plan."

"Plans can change," I offer, trying my hardest not to let her melancholy infect me. "It's one year, San. You and Britt will get through it, and then you'll be together in the Big Apple and everything is going to be fine."

She gives me a curious look. "I think you're spending too much time with Berry," she says. "Your optimism is revolting."

I can't bring myself to smile, because this all feels _wrong_ somehow. This isn't a conversation we should be having. "I don't think you and Britt are going to break up," I say, trying to inject as much confidence into my voice as I can. "It's just a year. You'll visit each other and you'll make it. You're Brittana. If you two can't make it work, what hope do the rest of us have?"

She looks at me again, and it's the first time I _see_ it.

Well, she _allows_ me to, and I see the devastation and the heartbreak and the sheer anguish. It's in her eyes, on full display for the first time, and my breath catches in my throat.

The truth is I can keep saying the words until I'm blue in the face, but they're always going to mean nothing.

"Santana, no?" I whisper, my own heart aching at the sudden realisation.

Without meeting my gaze, she merely shrugs. "So... guess who's newly single?"

* * *

 _Quinn: So, I think I'm going to spend the night at Santana's. Some stuff has happened with Britt, and she needs me. I already spoke to Hiram, so there's no need to inform your fathers._

 _Quinn: Also, maybe we both need some space, for whatever reason. Santana told me what she told you about Columbia, and you're clearly not ready to talk about it if your excuse this afternoon is anything to go on. I think we both know you're not actually ill, and I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about that. I don't know if you're mad or if this is something else entirely. I don't even know if you want to talk about it or not. I don't know anything, and I guess that was your point._

 _Quinn: I'll see you in the morning. I love you. X_

Once I've sent the messages to Rachel, I instantly deflate, and I'm pulled out of my musings when Santana throws a pair of McKinley sweatpants at my face.

"Jesus, Q," she says. "Don't look so forlorn. _I'm_ the one who got dumped. Not you."

Despite myself, I wince at the sound of her words and, the second she replays them, her own face crumples. I don't know what to do. In my own experience, handing out comfort to any person who isn't Rachel is difficult for me. It just feels awkward and forced, and I don't want to pass that on to Santana. Not right now, when the events of the day seem to be catching up with her.

Eventually, she clears her throat, and then looks at the sweatpants that are now sitting in my lap as I sit on the edge of her bed. "Are those okay?" she asks, gesturing at the garment.

"They're fine," I say.

"Bathroom's all yours."

It's awkward as we get settled, but we eventually manage it, each of us sliding under the covers of her large bed. I have a fleeting thought about what Santana and Brittany have possibly done in these sheets, but I'm not going to bring up my fellow blonde. Right now, I'm going to be Santana's friend and, whenever Brittany replies to my texts, I'll be her friend as well.

We lie in silence for seven minutes before I release a breath and roll onto my side to look at her. "I know we're not those people who do _this_ ," I say, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't know what you need but, if it's to talk, I'm all ears. If it's someone to rage at, well, you've never needed to be told twice. I'd offer myself as a punching bag, but Coach would probably have something to say about that." I pause. "And, well, if you need a hug, I can do that too. Rachel's taught me a few things."

She stares at me for the longest time before she laughs. "Is this as weird for you as it is for me?"

"I can't imagine that being possible."

"God, you're an idiot."

"You've called me that far too many times today," I say. "I'm not sure I like it."

She laughs harder at that and, before either of us knows it, her laughter is turning into uncontrollable sobs. The tears come thick and fast, and I try not to think about it as I close the space between us and draw her into a hug. She's around Rachel's height, so she fits against my body, but it's not _perfect_ , and there's a large part of me that's relieved by that.

Only Rachel Berry fits perfectly.

I run a soothing hand along her back as she cries into my neck, her body shaking. I don't say anything, because who wants to hear that everything is going to be okay? I certainly didn't in November, and I know Santana doesn't either.

"This wasn't part of the plan," she says after a while, calming slightly.

"I know," I say.

She's quiet for a long while and, when she speaks again, her voice is surprisingly clear. "Do you know what the fucked part of this whole mess is?"

I hum in acknowledgement.

"There's a tiny part of me that's... relieved," she confesses, and I wait. "We were supposed to be in New York together, but that's not going to happen, and I'm _relieved_ that we're not going to have to work so hard to maintain a long distance relationship." She sits up, extricating herself from my arms and wipes at her eyes. She looks so small. "Just imagine, Britt and me trying to do _long distance_. We're not built for that. Breaking up is the best solution."

It sounds as if she's trying to convince herself of the truth of it, and I want to ask questions, like why did they break up _today_ when there's still a few weeks left of school, and I want to ask about Prom. Are they still friends? Are we all going to be able to hang out? What does this mean for the Unholy Trinity?

Because they're all selfish questions, I don't speak.

I just wait.

Eventually, she looks at me, tears shining in her eyes. "Everything is going to be okay, right?"

Well, okay, maybe I'm actually more terrible at this than I thought. "Of course," I immediately say. "Everything is going to be okay, Santana. You'll see. You're going to be okay."

All I can do is hope the world doesn't make me a liar.

* * *

In the morning, nothing is clearer, and I have a pounding headache that feels as if it's spreading through my entire body. For two people who don't express themselves well, I think Santana and I have made it through the night relatively scathed.

Well, _she_ has.

I still have to go home and face my girlfriend and whatever _that_ entails.

I find out soon enough, though. Santana drops me off - claiming she's going to the Lima Bean to get us both coffees - and then she's going to come back to fetch me for school. I told her about my attempt to get behind the wheel, and she says we're going to work on it.

There are so many things on which to work.

Rachel is in her bedroom when I emerge from the guest bathroom, already dressed in my uniform. She gives me a quizzical look when I move to stand in her doorway, as if she didn't expect to see me back so soon.

I _live_ here.

"Santana and Brittany broke up," I tell her.

"I know," she says, rising from the edge of her bed. "Britt told me."

"Did she say how she's doing?"

"Not really," she answers. "I think she's just focusing on other things not to think about it."

I nod. Brittany is a special case. She _could_ be focusing on other things, or she really could be okay. Her emotional maturity and level of human understanding is eons more than mine is. Or Santana's is. She's probably more emotionally mature than the two of us combined.

Rachel clears her throat. "You didn't tell me about Columbia."

Okay, so we're doing this.

"You didn't _let_ me," I counter, and then immediately feel childish. "I tried to tell you on the Ferris Wheel, but you didn't want to hear it. I left it at that because it doesn't change anything, Rachel. I'm still going to Yale."

"But, we could be in New York together," she says, and her voice cracks on the word 'together.'

I close my eyes against the sound. "Rachel, please," I say, drawing on all my patience to get through this without lashing out the way my body is screaming for me to. "My not picking Columbia isn't because I don't want to be with you. You know that."

"Do I?"

I ignore that and continue. "I have to be at Yale in New Haven the same way you have to be at NYADA in New York, okay?" It amazes me that she doesn't _get_ that. "I won't follow you blindly. I won't. We'll resent each other for it, and you know it as much as I do."

She narrows her eyes, and I wonder if I've said the wrong thing. "But you applied," she argues. "You wanted Columbia at some point, Quinn."

"And, if I didn't get into Yale, I would be somewhere else," I say. "Hell, I would be _anywhere_ else." I smooth down my hair, needing to get it perfect to match my uniform. "But I _did_ , Rachel. I got in, and I did that, for myself." I look at her, almost pleading with her to understand why this is important to me. "I know it makes it difficult for us, but this is something I have to do for me, and for both of us."

" _Quinn_." It's that strangled sound from deep in her throat, and it slices through my chest, making me _ache_. "Quinn."

"I love you," I say. "I love you so much, Rachel, but I'm sorry; I won't do this for you. I won't, and you can't ask me to." I take in a shaky breath. "You _can't_ ," I repeat. "God, you _can't_ ask me to go to Columbia and New York for you. You can't."

She gives me a curious look. "Quinn?"

"We both know what I'll do if you ask."

She presses her lips together, considering it. "What?"

"I already told you I _would_ follow you anywhere," I say. "Please don't make me. _Please_."

Rachel stares at me for the longest time, her eyes searching my face for _something_. Whether or not she finds it is lost on me, though, because she eventually drops her gaze and says nothing for several minutes.

I wait.

What can I say, anyway?

Eventually, she speaks again. "I love you, Quinn," she says, her voice gentle and unassuming. "I'm sorry, but I can't help it that I want to be with you in New York, okay? I can't deny that, because I would want nothing less than to be able to see you all the time; even _live_ with you. I want all of these things with you, and I can't wrap my head around the fact that you _don't_."

She's not actually _asking_ me but, somehow, this is worse. I don't know how to tell her _of course, I want all these things_ , and then still go to Yale. Those things can never be mutually exclusive to Rachel, and I don't know how to explain it other than saying, "Imagine it was the other way around." I run another nervous hand over my hair. "Yale is my NYADA, Rachel. It's the place I have to be, and you can't stand there and say words like that to me, as if _my_ dreams are any less than yours."

I look away from her, suddenly feeling emotional.

God, how did we even get _here_?

I clear my throat. "Look, I _know_ I was lost and confused when we started this whole thing, but you and your fathers have helped me figure out what I actually want to do with my life, and I have. I want to go to Yale, and I want to be a writer. These are things I decided for myself, and I refuse to let you make me feel as if I love you any less because I refuse to go to New York _for_ you. That's not fair, and you know it."

She just stares at me.

"Obviously, you need more time to come to terms with this," I say, fixing my already perfectly straight uniform. "I'm going to go to school and deal with the aftermath of my two best friends breaking up. You know where to find me when you want to have a proper conversation about this."

And then I do just that.

Aftermath, here we come.

* * *

As far as major school breakups go, this one is less awkward than I anticipate it being. It's obvious Brittany and Santana have agreed to remain friends - whatever that means for them because they were once _friends with benefits_ \- and I worry for how this new dynamic will affect them, me, the three of us, Glee and the Squad.

It's all moot, anyway, because they're... friends.

They do it far better than anyone I've ever met. I mean, they even do that whole pinkie thing, and all I can do is stare in disbelief. I could barely look at Finn after we broke up, and Kurt and Blaine are _still_ weird and cryptic around each other. I guess it really does matter who the _people_ are.

If Santana picks up on the tension between me and Rachel, she doesn't say anything.

Right now, it looks as if Rachel and I are the ones who broke up.

Dr McMaster is definitely in for it during tomorrow's session. Honestly, I don't know how I ever got through anything without a therapist.

I'm barely surviving as it is.

* * *

It takes Rachel until I get back from cheerleading practice on Thursday to come find me. I'm lying on the bed in the guest bedroom, having two separate conversations with Kurt and with Santana, both of them talking about New York and how their _single_ lives are going to be so much better once they get there.

I have half a mind to tell them to talk to each other.

Anyway.

I look up from my phone's screen when there's a soft knock on the bedroom door, and spy Rachel standing in the doorway. I shift into a seated position and raise my eyebrows in question. "What's up?" I force myself to say, keeping my tone even.

Rachel nervously wrings her fingers together, her gaze on the carpet. "Quinn?" she says, her own tone serious.

I turn my body, and drop my legs to the floor. "What's wrong?"

She takes a deep breath, and then meets my gaze. "I know we're... whatever we are, right now, but - " she stops, her voice faltering. "You said you would - " she stops again. She clears her throat. "I'm meeting James tonight, and I was wondering if you would still, umm, come with me?"

I blink once, twice, and then slowly rise to my feet. "Of course," I say, which looks like a surprise to her. "I _told_ you I would be there, and that's not going to change, just because we're... whatever we are."

"Oh," she mumbles. "I just thought..." she trails off. "I just thought you would be too mad or something."

I take a cautious step towards her. "I'm _not_ mad, Rachel," I say, and it's the truth, because Dr McMaster and I examined all my feelings on this particular topic.

"You're hurt."

I sigh tiredly. "Whatever I'm feeling while we're at this... impasse, is unimportant," I say patiently. "I made this promise to you, and I intend to keep it. I love you and, if you need me, I'm always going to be there."

"I _do_ need you, Quinn; all the time," she says softly. "Isn't that the problem?"

"And I'm always going to be there," I tell her, and I mean it. "It just, maybe, might take me a little more time to get there. I hear the train takes two hours, and I've been looking into these Metro North passes that will allow us to - _mmph_." My speech is cut off by lips that haven't kissed me since early Monday morning, and I immediately sink into the embrace.

Nothing is fixed, but I've missed my girlfriend.

Before it gets too heated, Rachel pulls back, and then immediately presses her face into my neck, her hands sliding to the small of my back. "I'm scared," she whispers. "I'm terrified, Quinn."

"Of what?" I ask, threading my fingers through her hair.

"Being without you," she confesses. "Of having you so far away. Of your getting hurt again. Of your growing into someone wonderful that I don't get to witness. Of your realising that I'm not actually what you want. Of your figuring out that your life and dreams are so much bigger than me. Of your finding somebody new, who's going to be _there_ while I'm in New York. I'm terrified of _so many things_ , Quinn, and I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with them without having you right beside me."

I don't know what to say for the longest time, my brain working overtime. That's definitely more than I was expecting her to say and, yeah, it's _a lot_. Deciding that I probably don't have the tools to make any of this better, I go with the truth: "I love you." It's all I have because, really, I don't _know_ what's going to happen in the future. "I love you, Rachel. I don't know if it's going to be enough, but you're going to have to let it be." I lay my hands on the sides of her face and lean back, so I can look at her. "We're going to figure it out," I say.

" _Quinn_."

"I _know_ it's not going to be easy," I continue. "We'll get frustrated and angry and we might go weeks without seeing each other, but we can do this." I have to be the confident one, here. I have to be _certain_. "But, you know, just think about how great the reunion sex is going to be."

Despite herself, Rachel chuckles tearily.

"Oh, baby," I murmur, pressing kisses to her cheeks. "Everything is going to be okay. You'll see."

"Do you _really_ believe that?"

"I do," I say. "We're Quinn and Rachel. We'll always be okay."

She grumbles. "And, now, you're just using my words against me."

"It's your own fault for drilling them in so spectacularly."

She breathes a sigh, her breath warm against the skin of my neck. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I don't think your dreams are any less than mine, and I definitely don't want to make you feel you love me any less because you won't bend for me. I'm sorry." She meets my gaze, her eyes _imploring_. "I don't like the idea of us being apart. I won't deny that, because it's not something I'm looking forward to, but I love you, and I'm determined to make this work, because I want to be with you for forever." She holds up her right hand for me to see. "This ring is a promise, and I intend to keep it. You're right. We're going to be okay."

I smile knowingly. "Because we're Quinn and Rachel."

She laughs softly, almost as if she doesn't want to. "Of course," she says, and then kisses me again, her lips soft but insistent.

I pull back this time, smiling lazily. "So, where are we meeting, umm, James?"

Her brow crinkles slightly, and I find it insanely cute. "We're supposed to be having dinner at that Thai place on Belvedere."

I frown. "But, don't you hate that place?"

"I do," she says, all innocence. "I picked it because, you know, if this dinner goes terribly - which, let's face it, is a strong possibility - I'm not going to ruin a place I actually _like_."

And, really, it's _such_ a Rachel thing to say that all I can do is draw her back in and kiss her.

We're going to be okay.

I just know it.


	52. fifty-two

**Chapter Fifty-Two**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _some words build houses in your throat.  
_ _and they live there, content and on fire_.

.

As far as first - it's technically his second, but I'm trying not to think about the day of Aunt Marianne's funeral - impressions go, James Holt makes a good one. Even though I didn't explicitly tell him I wasn't coming alone, he didn't even bat an eyelash when I introduced Quinn... as my best friend. We decided, in the car on the way here, that we would try him out, and then maybe see how he reacts to the idea that we're together in _all_ the ways.

Apparently, that's what we're doing now.

Slowly coming out, or whatever.

I don't actually want this man to know before all the other important people in my life, but Quinn and I have reached a consensus that we're done hiding. It's both terrifying and exhilarating, though I'm still apprehensive about revealing our relationship to him as some kind of test; like some kind of shock value. It makes me feel... dirty, somehow. Like, we're soiling what we have just to get a reaction out of him, and it's not okay with me.

Well, I suppose we'll just see how things go.

We don't really start talking about anything of substance until after we've ordered our food - yes, Quinn _does_ order for me, and James still says nothing. I suppose it helps when Quinn casually says, "She's really terrible at making food decisions - we could be here for hours," and I rest a hand on her leg, giving it a grateful squeeze.

"So, how is school?" James asks, and I force myself not to roll my eyes at the almost-predictable, generic question. I wonder if he's _actually_ interested, or if he's just asking out of some kind of obligation. I almost smile at the thought that he might have a predetermined list of questions to ask. Maybe there's an index card somewhere.

Quinn lets out a quiet breath that sounds suspiciously like a scoff, and I resist the urge to smile.

"It's good," is what I say instead. "We're graduating soon."

He nods, looking momentarily pained by something. I think it's the reminder that I'm the _eighteen-year-old_ granddaughter he's _just_ meeting. "Do - do you have plans for after?" he asks, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I didn't go to college myself, but I assume you've considered all the options you have available. I think it's important to seek tertiary education, even if you you're unable to get into the schools you initially want."

I bristle slightly, and Quinn stiffens at the assumption. "I'm going to NYADA," I say, keeping the disdain out of my voice. "And Quinn is going to Yale." It's the first time I've actually said it with pride, and I assume Quinn can hear it in my voice, because her left hand squeezes mine still on her thigh.

His eyes widen slightly, possibly in surprise or something else, and he clears his throat. "I've - I've never heard of... NYADA?"

"It's the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts," I inform him, practically beaming with pride. I got into one of the most prestigious musical theatre programs in the country. I will wear that badge any day, and wear it proudly.

He blinks. "The... Arts?"

Oh.

"Well, yes," I say. "I've dreamed of performing on Broadway since I knew what it was. My dads have supported me every step of the way."

His eyes harden momentarily, and I imagine he has to stop himself from saying something untoward. I'll give him props for that, I suppose. Anyone else would have taken the bait and made a comment about homosexuality and Broadway.

Quinn clears her throat. "Rachel is very talented, Sir," she casually adds, sipping at her water. "It's almost unbelievable the size of voice that comes out of her tiny body."

I glance at her, unable to resist my indignation. "I am _not_ tiny," I huff.

Quinn just laughs, her eyes on James as if she's appraising him. It's ridiculously sexy for me to watch, and I just know that she's getting lucky tonight, regardless of how this evening goes. "Her bark is much bigger than her bite," she informs James. "Though, she _does_ pack a punch."

"How do you know that?" I ask, because I'm halfway certain I haven't actually _punched_ anyone before.

When she finally looks at me, her eyes are shining with mirth. "I'm pretty sure one of the boys mentioned it," she says, and I frown. What is she doing?

I look at James, who seems to have visibly relaxed, and I cringe. Is he _that_ worried that Quinn and I are so gay for each other? Jesus. "Well, Finn deserved it," I find myself saying.

Quinn rolls her eyes as she looks at James. "My ex-boyfriend," she says as an explanation. "It was a pretty ugly breakup."

That's one way to put it.

"Anyway," Quinn says with a dainty wave of her right hand. "Rachel is going to study musical theatre in New York, which has been her dream since she was three years old. You should be proud of her. It's an extremely difficult thing to accomplish, and it's amazing that there are _two_ from our school who got into such a competitive program."

James looks a little bewildered, and I definitely don't blame him. _Quinn_ is a lot to deal with on any day, and she's actually _trying_ tonight. If I wasn't sitting beside her; I think I would be blinded by how bright she's shining. She's practically relentless with the charm she's suddenly turned on, and she begins to talk circles all around James; telling him things without actually telling him anything at all.

James even lets out a sigh of relief when our food arrives, and I have to duck my head to hide my smirk. Who knew Quinn Fabray would be the _overwhelming_ one at this dinner? Still, I'm immensely relieved that she's taking the reigns, helping the two of us navigate topics without coming across any other landmines. It allows me the time to relax enough to ask the questions I want to.

I clear my throat, and Quinn glances at me. _I'm ready_ , I try to convey with my eyes, and she must read it, because she sits back slightly. "James," I start. "I've - I've always been rather curious about the Holt family. Daddy doesn't talk much about them."

He grows still, and Quinn and I wait. "We're originally from Mississippi, you know," he says carefully. "A long time ago, our family arrived on the slave ships, and were made to work in the cotton fields." For a moment, his eyes flick Quinn's way, and it's the first time I realise that he _sees_ the colour of her skin.

Admittedly, I see it too, but for entirely different reasons. I see the way she blushes when I say something particularly salacious, and I see the marks I leave with my lips and teeth. I see the skin that easily burns in the sunlight, and I see the skin that's in such contrast to my own that I'm still convinced we fit _perfectly_.

But James sees her white skin, and his eyes flash with sudden hatred.

If Quinn senses it, she doesn't show it. Her fingers do curl around my knee a little tighter, but she's outwardly unaffected. I have this sudden urge to snap at him; just get him to back off. How _dare_ he look at her like that?

James' eyes drift back to me before I can let my own irritation get the better of me. "Long after that, we migrated to Ohio," he says. "I don't really know why they thought this was the place to be, but they came and stayed, and we've been here ever since." He sips at his own glass of water. "Holt isn't even our surname."

I'm tempted to ask what it is, but I hold my tongue. I'm not entirely sure what information I was hoping to gain by asking my questions, but I'm all ears. I've spent many years and even more school projects not knowing much about either of my extended families, and getting some insight might be helpful.

"They settled mainly in Cleveland," James explains, which, I know, is where James lives. I suddenly understand why my Daddy has such an aversion to that particular part of the state. "It's where I grew up." He licks his lips. "We were a large family," he explains. "My father had nine brothers and sisters, and I had six siblings."

Quinn's hand shifts on my leg, almost as if she's pulling it away, and I grab on, holding her in place.

I _need_ her.

"There aren't many of us left," he says sadly. "I have two younger brothers, Marcus and Troy, and an older sister, Regina. They all have children of their own, and they too have children. There are even a few great grandchildren in the mix. The family is constantly growing. It seems every other week there's a wedding or baby announcement."

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to feel about his words. The 'family' he's talking about doesn't exist to me, and I wonder if that's supposed to change now that he knows about me. I'm not sure I would even _want_ to meet the rest of the Holt clan. Not only did they shun my Daddy for his sexuality, but they treated Aunt Marianne horribly as well, and I don't see a day when I can forget that.

It shouldn't take James' little sister dying for him to develop a conscience.

It shouldn't take finding out he actually has a granddaughter for him to make any kind of contact. And, frankly, the idea that he wants to talk to only me and not my Daddy fills me with a kind of rage I don't think I'll be able to control if ever that topic of conversation comes up.

Still, I try to pay attention as he explains some of the family I'll probably never meet. There's a certain easiness about the way he speaks about them, a proud member of his oh-so-perfect family, and I can't help feeling a little jealous.

On behalf of myself, and on behalf of my Daddy.

LeRoy Berry became a doctor. A _surgeon_. He did that without the support of his parents and extended family. He had Aunt Marianne, and I suspect she was all he ever needed. She claimed he barely needed her, but I stand by the fact that they needed each other, back then and every day after. They were lost without each other, which is why the fact that she's now gone is even harder to stomach.

What's supposed to happen to my Daddy now?

What's supposed to happen to any of us?

I swallow audibly. "May - may I ask about my grandmother?"

James chews his food purposefully, and then smiles sadly. "I think she would have loved you," he says. "She passed a few years ago. They say it was a heart attack, but I sometimes think it was the result of a broken heart. She's never really been able to recover from - from what happened with your, uh, LeRoy."

I nod thoughtfully. Does that mean the woman _regretted_ sending her son away? And, if she did, why didn't she do anything to fix it? It's been _decades_. She could have saved a lot of people a lot of heartache if she'd just picked up the phone and _talked_ to her son.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I say, and I mean it. "I really would have liked to meet her."

His smile is small but present. "Edith would have liked that too," he says sincerely, and then clears his throat. "Though, she would have baulked at the idea that you're a vegan," he says, chuckling to himself. "She made the _best_ pot roast in the world."

Oh. _That's_ why it's one of my Daddy's favourite meals.

"It's the rosemary, isn't it?" Quinn asks him, and his eyes snap towards her.

"Y-yes," he says. "How did you know that?"

"LeRoy has made it a handful of times," Quinn explains, once again testing limits. If anything, _she_ understands my Daddy and what he possibly feels about his own family far better than I ever will. She has first-hand experience. "He always claims it's a secret recipe, but he's never been all that good at keeping secrets."

I have to chuckle at the sound of that because it's true. He has an _excitable_ quality about him and, sometimes, he just can't help himself. As stoic and serious as he can be, he's been known to spill the beans on a handful of things. It's one way in which he and Quinn aren't alike, and I'm immensely relieved by that.

"Right," James says tensely. Then, glancing down at our almost-empty plates (Quinn has eaten far too little, if you ask me), he asks, "Dessert?"

Quinn opts for some tea. I get a coffee, and James orders a slice of chocolate cake to go with his cappuccino.

As soon as our beverages arrive, James goes right back to talking about the family I will never meet. It's a truth I've come to accept. _This_ is probably the only dinner we'll have like this because, even if he doesn't learn the truth about my relationship with Quinn; he's bound to, and we all know what's going to happen after that. It makes me wonder what Aunt Marianne would have been like if her own family hadn't shunned her. Would she have been as accepting of my Daddy?

I like to think so. There was something innately special about Aunt Marianne.

But now she's gone, and this _man_ is attempting to - what?

With every word James says, I get the growing feeling that he has a very special goal he intends to accomplish when it comes to the meeting. He's _trying_ to - to what?

Take his granddaughter away from his son, in a misguided attempt to _save_ her? Poison said granddaughter against his son? Feed her stories of a family she could have that doesn't include someone like her father?

Whatever he's aiming to accomplish here, James Holt has _definitely_ come to the wrong place for it.

I've never really thought much about whom my own grandfather would be. When I was younger, I was so curious about the family I would never meet, but then I noticed how much it hurt my Daddy to talk about them, and I realised that maybe not all family is meant to be _known_. I learnt another lesson about that with Shelby, and I'm trying not to make those same mistakes.

I want to have _grown_.

I think I know what I deserve now, and she's sitting right beside me, absently sipping at her tea in silent support.

* * *

I don't know what it is.

Maybe Quinn does something cute and adorable, or maybe I just look at her for a little too long, but I catch the moment James suddenly just _knows_. He grows still, his fork freezing in its ascent towards his mouth, and he looks at us for a long moment. He scrutinises us as his brain catches up with what it believes his eyes have just shown him.

Holding my breath, I wait.

"You're one of them too, aren't you?" he asks hauntingly, his fork clattering down on his plate.

Quinn flinches, her eyes immediately looking up at him.

James is looking between the two of us as if he's seeing us for the first time; as if we haven't been sitting across from him for the past hour and a half, just having a simple, somewhat charged and heavy conversation. "You _are,_ aren't you?" he presses, and Quinn stiffens. His face twists into a scowl. "This is why," he growls; "this is _why_ sinners shouldn't be allowed to have children." He shakes his head. "You didn't stand a fucking chance, did you?"

There are so many things I want to say, but Quinn speaks up before I can.

"What about me, then?" she asks coldly, and it must pain her to consider her father _not_ a sinner in this moment.

"She must have turned you," James immediately says, looking disgusted.

I almost want to curl into a ball and hide away, but Quinn's palm on my thigh is a welcome weight. If she senses my unease, the gentle squeeze of my leg is the only indication she gives. I _know_ rejection. I've dealt with it my entire life, but this one feels heavy. This man, who's supposed to be my family, has decided that I'm... _less_ , because the person I love just so happens to look different than what religion and society has decided to dictate for me.

" _Turned_ me?" Quinn snorts, laughing darkly. It's such a haunting sound that has James flicking his eyes worriedly at her. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you hear the words you're saying?" She smoothes a hand over her perfect hair. "It's not _contagious_."

"It's a poison," he argues, practically hissing.

If ever I thought Quinn wouldn't be ready for the vitriol our relationship could garner from other people, I'm severely mistaken. Quinn looks perfectly calm, though I can feel the tension in her body. "A poison," she echoes casually. " _What_ exactly is a poison?"

James looks at me, seeking _something_. He must not find it, because he looks at Quinn again. "You're a homosexual, are you not?"

Quinn's eyes narrow. "What if I am?" she questions. "You were perfectly fine having a conversation with me just five minutes ago? Am I suddenly _abnormal_ now? What did you say? Has my _poison_ begun to show?" She leans forward, almost daring him to continue with... whatever he's trying to say.

James clenches his jaw. "It's not right."

"And I believe you," Quinn says, surprising us all. "It's _not_ right that you get to sit there and judge us for something that doesn't even concern you." She shakes her head. "How does this _change_ anything? _Why_ does it change anything? Just minutes ago, you were ready to welcome Rachel into the family that didn't want her _father_ , and now what? Now she's not good enough for you? God, you're _pathetic_."

Frankly, I've never actually seen Quinn this angry. It isn't even the explosive kind, which is definitely worse. This is the cold, settling kind that slices through the air and seeps into your very bones. Her voice is so pointed and harsh, and her eyes are glaring so hard that James can barely maintain eye contact with her.

I know now isn't the time, but I literally can't help thinking that my girlfriend is just _so_ ridiculously hot. No, she's stupidly sexy, and I suddenly can't wait until I can get her behind closed doors and have my dirty, dirty way with her. In fact, there's a very cynical part of me that wants to grab her by the collar and kiss her right here, right now. Which, of course, I won't do, but I definitely fantasise about it.

"You're _all_ going to burn in Hell," James says, but he no longer sounds angry. He sounds almost... pleading. "You're still so young. We can get you help."

I bristle at the sound of that. "Is that the same thing you said to my father?" I ask, my voice carrying an edge. "Or, was it just more convenient to send him away and hope the problem would fix itself?"

"You don't understand," he says. "I tried to _save_ him."

"By sending him away?" I snap, my fists landing on the tabletop.

James warily glances around, and Quinn places a calming hand over the closest clenched fist. When he's satisfied nobody has noticed my reaction to his words, his gaze settles on our hands and stays there for the longest time.

Quinn doesn't move, and neither do I.

"It's not too late," James says slowly, his eyes frozen. "We can fix this. I failed LeRoy in so many ways, but I can do better with you."

I'm filled with a feeling of disgust, and it must show on my face because he flinches.

"Please," he says, that pleading tone still in his voice. "You can't be one of them too. You _can't_."

"But, I am," I confirm. "I'm one of those _things_ you claim to hate. I'm in love with a _girl_."

"No," he says, shaking his head. "No." He looks utterly distraught, and I don't figure out exactly _why_ until he says, "But, I already told them about you."

The silence that follows stretches for immeasurable moments.

"Quinn," I suddenly say, and her head snaps towards me. "I think it's time to go home."

Her facial expression shifts, hardening right before my eyes, and then she nods. "I think you're right."

* * *

The ride home is silent. I think there's a part of Quinn that almost _wishes_ she were driving, because she can't seem to sit still. Her tapping fingers and constant crossing and uncrossing of her legs actually makes me smile, and I love her.

I love her.

I won't deny it, and I will never apologise for it.

When I pull into the driveway, neither of us makes a move to leave.

It's okay. We're okay.

 _I'm_ okay.

Quinn eventually reaches for my hand. "Come on," she says; "let's go inside."

I let her lead me inside, and I agree when she sends me up to my bedroom while she talks to my dads. I wouldn't even know what to say to either of them in this moment, and I can only hope that they aren't too hurt by the fact that I actually met with the man who decided my Daddy and Aunt Marianne were less than _people_.

I'm standing in the centre of my bedroom floor when Quinn arrives. I hear her close and lock the door behind her, and then I feel her presence behind me. I can't tell if I'm going to start crying, but I _am_ feeling a slew of conflicting emotions. I'm tempted to consult my journal, but I just stay standing there. Waiting.

Quinn places her hands on my shoulders and gently massages the tension out of my muscles. I unashamedly lean into her touch, and let out a small mewling sound when she nuzzles my neck. Her lips press against my skin, and I let out a sigh, sagging into her body and soaking up her warmth and comfort. I start to _melt_ moments later, and Quinn catches me, scooping me up in her arms, and I love her. I love her so much.

She slowly undresses me, stripping me of the cloak of... rejection. Her lips ghost over my skin with every move she makes, and it's as if the sting diminishes with every featherlight touch.

It's okay. We're okay.

 _I'm_ okay.

My legs move when Quinn guides my towards the bed, and I let her lay me down, her own body never too far from mine. Her fingers are warm and present, and I can feel her everywhere. She _is_ everywhere, hovering over me. Protecting me the only way Quinn Fabray can.

I let out a breath when Quinn's lips dip down to my collarbone, my body arching in an attempt to press closer against her. I can feel her smile against my skin, and I automatically thread my fingers into her soft, blonde hair.

"I love you," Quinn murmurs.

"I know," I say, gasping when her fingers ghost over my bare breast.

"Let me show you how much," she whispers against my heated skin. "Let me make you forget all about this night."

It's too enticing to pass up, and I immediately lift her head up to kiss her lips. It's all the affirmation she needs because, just minutes later, her hand is trailing down my body, the space between my legs her ultimate destination.

* * *

"God, I can't believe I've lost count of how many times we've done this."

Quinn lifts her head from its resting place on my abdomen, her dark eyes searching for mine. The arousal lingers in the hazel, her brow is adorably furrowed and her Just-Been-Fucked hair isn't helping me _turn off_ at all.

"You've been keeping count?" she asks, her voice raspy after, well, all the moaning. She's lying on her stomach between my legs, which has quickly become her favoured post-coital position.

"I _was_ ," I answer, lovingly threading my fingers through her crazy hair.

"Why?"

I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, giving thought to my response. "I _know_ you love me, and I _know_ this is real, but I sometimes can't believe it," I admit. "It's difficult to wrap my head around the monumental idea that _you_ actually want _me_ , Quinn, and there's always been a tiny part of me that's worried you'll grow tired of me and us, or get bored or just get over it, and I wanted to remember and savour every single encounter we've ever had."

Quinn looks, predictably, bewildered. "Rachel?"

I tug lightly on her hair, and she smiles slightly. "I _know_ , Quinn," I say. "You should know, by now, that your girlfriend is a little neurotic."

She hums in response, and then drops a kiss to my abdomen. "What number were you at _before_ you lost count?" she asks, lips brushing against my skin as she speaks.

I start to squirm. She can't _possibly_ want to go again. It's late and I'm exhausted. _She_ had Cheerios' practice today; how is she not a complete zombie right now?

"How many?" she asks again.

"A lot."

"Rachel."

" _A lot_ , Quinn," I repeat.

"Are we counting all orgasms in total, or just since we started having sex?"

I can't help my laugh. "You _really_ want to know, don't you?"

"I'm curious."

I chuckle. "Well, at first, I started counting our kisses."

Her eyes widen. "What?"

"I lost track of those really quickly, though," I tell her. "You're rather demanding with that mouth of yours."

Quinn blushes, immediately ducking her head to hide it.

It always fascinates me how this girl who, just minutes ago, was swearing like a sailor with her fingers buried deep inside me, is now _embarrassed_ about the fact she's apparently a relentless _kisser_. She's adorable, really, and I tug on her hair again to lift her head.

"When we graduated from making out and heavy petting, I did start counting orgasms," I explain. "I filed them under all sorts of columns. Me, you, mutual; bed, wall; private, public."

Quinn breathes out. "Where have we ever had public - "

"New York bathrooms come to mind," I cut in. "The Cheerios locker room. Back of my car. In the - "

"Okay, okay," Quinn says with a laugh. "We're regular old deviants, aren't we?"

"I am so in love with you."

Quinn's facial expression softens, and her eyes grow warmer. "You make me so happy."

"I do?"

"Are you fishing for a compliment?"

"It wouldn't hurt."

"You, maybe."

I tug on her hair. Perhaps a little too hard, because she lets out a soft grunt of displeasure.

"Rachel."

"Sorry, baby."

She huffs in annoyance, trying to shake her head free of my grasp, but I'm not letting go.

I'm _never_ letting go.

She should know that by now.

"You know," I say; "we actually _haven't_ discussed Prom properly. We know we can't go together - at least not without screaming from the rooftops that we're _just friends_ \- and the fact that you keep saying no to every boy who asks is starting to get kind of suspicious. Prom is next weekend, Quinn."

"Suspicious," she echoes, shifting slightly to get more comfortable.

I have to suck in a breath when her bare skin brushes against mine.

"What's so suspicious about that, when I've already been declining offers all year?"

I sigh. "You're Quinn Fabray."

"I don't know what that means."

"Look, I think I have an idea as to how to... work this, or whatever." I feel her eyes on me. "I was thinking, maybe, you could go with Blaine, and I could go with Kurt," I offer. "I mean, they're obviously not going together, and we can rest assured that neither of them is going to _try_ anything with either one of us. I think we would both still have fun with dates who are handsome and caring and our _friends_ , who also know that we are completely unavailable." I pause to take a breath. "I don't really know what Santana and Brittany are planning on doing. I mean, I'm _certain_ I saw them in a janitor's closet the other day, so I'm stumped when it comes to those two. They'll probably go together, I don't know, but I want us to go to this dance and actually _enjoy_ ourselves, and I don't see that happening any other way."

Quinn waits two beats after I've finished to speak. "Are you done?"

I smile sheepishly. "Yup."

She grins back at me, _shifting_ again, and it's definitely on purpose this time. "Okay?"

"O-okay?"

In lieu of response, she moves downwards, and uses that mouth of hers to add to an already-monumental number I simply cannot recall.

* * *

Quinn leaves for Cheerios' practice early the next morning, and I do the thing and _attempt_ to make breakfast for my dads. Well, Quinn actually makes the pancake batter, and I just try not to burn them after Quinn demonstrates how _not_ to do it twice.

At the very least, each of my dads will end up with one perfect pancake.

By some miracle, I manage to make a further five not-so-terrible looking pancakes - they can fight over the odd one, if they so wish - and I snap a picture of my masterpieces that I immediately send to Quinn. She's probably testing her poor, battered lung far beyond its limit right now at practice, but I'm trying not to think about that. I still stand by the fact that I'm far too young for all the stress that idiot gives me.

God, she's going to give me grey hairs, that one.

I'm just finishing setting the table when my dads come into the kitchen together, both of them already dressed and ready to face the day. I'm not sure what I'm expecting out of this morning's discussion - Quinn didn't really use her mouth to tell me what she told them about our dinner with James - so I'm flying a little blind here.

It's okay, though.

We're going to talk about it, either way.

"Good morning, Sweetheart," my Dad says, wrapping me in a hug.

My Daddy is slightly more hesitant with his greeting, but he _has_ been a bit off since Aunt Marianne's passing and the subsequent return of his father. I absently wonder if he even knows about his mother. I don't want to be the one to tell him. I wouldn't even know how to bring that up.

"I made breakfast," I declare, waving a hand over the table.

"Did you now?" my Daddy asks, raising an eyebrow in such a Quinn way that I'm convinced they're spending far too much time together. I can't have the two of them ganging up on me with those pesky eyebrows of theirs. I wouldn't ever get my way.

"I did," I weakly defend. "I mean, well, Quinn made the batter, but I made five of those pancakes."

"We can tell which ones."

"Dad!"

It takes us a few minutes to get settled, and I set their tailored coffees in front of each of them before finally taking my seat. I can't be sure if I should feel nervous about this, but there is an odd uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. We're just going to talk... about my homophobic grandfather, who's convinced it's his duty to save me from a life of sin.

 _Jesus_.

"Not that this isn't lovely, Sweetheart," my Dad says around a mouthful of heavily-syrupped pancake; "but is this a special occasion?" He swallows thickly. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

Nobody laughs, and I'm immensely relieved Quinn isn't here.

"Wow. Tough crowd."

I clear my throat. "Dad, Daddy, I would like to talk to you about the man referred to as James Holt." The words are expected, but they still catch all three of us off guard, and it takes me another moment to gather my thoughts and feelings. "I'm not sure how much Quinn told you, but the two of us met with him last night."

My Daddy shifts in his seat, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. I don't blame him in the least.

"It - it didn't go so well," I confess quietly, which may or may not be a gross understatement.

"Are you okay?" my Dad asks.

If he asked me this question last night, I'm not sure _what_ I would have been able to tell him and I'm even more thankful to Quinn for giving me some time to process my feelings on the situation in its entirety. I've spent a lot of time - well, time when I wasn't engaging in nighttime activities with my super hot girlfriend - trying to wrap my head around exactly what happened with James, and I've come to the conclusion that every person in this world is entitled to his or her opinion. _That_ is okay. The part that isn't is when you try to _force_ it onto others.

It's _not_ okay to use it to _hurt_.

Quinn and I have been dealing with that in our own ways for years, and I'm done.

 _We're_ done.

"It started out fine, I suppose," I start to explain. "We sort of felt each other out in the beginning, and Quinn was her usual charming self, which eased the tension somewhat. But, as you know, the pleasantries can go only so far." I go on to explain the evening in its entirety, refusing to skirt around anything. I want them to know my own intentions for meeting with him were only to learn what I could about the family I've never met.

I'm too curious for my own good, sometimes.

"It wasn't our explicit intention to come out to him," I say, sounding oddly thoughtful. "If we're being technical, we actually _didn't_ , but he figured it out, and it didn't end well, at all." The more words I say, the harder my Daddy's facial expression gets. I watch as his hands disappear under the table, and I imagine they're clenched in tight fists. "I think I had this ideal in my head," I say; "that, given enough time, maybe people's thinking can change. It's like Quinn says, right? As the times change, so should theories and ideologies. I'm sure, if she had her way, she would do the same for the Constitution."

My Dad lets out a dry chuckle.

"Will it always be like this?" I ask seriously.

My Dad sighs. "We can't speak for everyone, Sweetheart," he says. "A lot of people are ignorant to homosexuality. I'm sure you could make endless lists about all the things people _don't_ know and just assume about us. I'm afraid it's unlikely we're ever going to be able to get away from people who have the belief that it's wrong, and aren't afraid to voice it. We're lucky when we find people who just ignore it and pretend it doesn't exist."

"I suppose it's too much to ask people to mind their own business?"

"I'm afraid so, Sweetheart."

I pop half a strawberry in my mouth, and chew thoughtfully. "It's different when it's family, isn't it?"

They both nod.

"Admittedly, I didn't _expect_ it would go well, but I also didn't think it would go so spectacularly badly." I laugh to myself. "I think, the one thing it's taught me, though, is that Quinn is definitely ready to come out."

"Oh?"

I nod. "Not right now, of course, but we're _there_. Does that makes sense?"

"I think you'll come to find that _nothing_ about the female half of our species makes remotely any sense to either of us."

I laugh out loud, shaking my head in amusement. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

"Not lately," my Daddy quips.

I smile at him. "Well, I love you. Both of you. So, so much." I take a deep breath. "And, I also want to say thank you. Thank you for loving me regardless of my crazy. Thank you for being there and here for me. Thank you for being kind and understanding and supportive and just so loving." I feel tears prickling at my eyes, and I force myself to keep it together. "I also want to thank you for loving Quinn. You know you didn't have to, but I am so grateful, and I know she is too." I can't keep control of my tears anymore, and they start to fall. "I just - I'm so _lucky_ to have you both, and I - I just want you to know. I appreciate you both, and I love you."

Seconds later I'm wrapped in a Berrymen hug, which _really_ doesn't help with my crying problem.

"We love you too, Sweetheart."

"Please, Honey, you never have to thank us for loving you. It's honestly the easiest thing we're ever done."

* * *

"Come with me."

I can barely register who's spoken before Quinn's fingers are closing around my wrist and she's dragging me down the corridor. "My books - " I protest half-heartedly, staring helplessly at the locker I, thankfully, have the wherewithal to slam shut. "Quinn?"

She's silent as she leads us to the choir room. I have just enough time to be relieved it's empty before Quinn is pushing me up against the wall in the corner of the room, the only position unseen through the glass in the door.

"Quinn," I gasp, feeling her toned body press against mine. "What - "

"Shut up," she says, her eyes blazing.

I just stare blankly at her, trying to figure out what could have happened in the almost ninety minutes since she left for school this morning. The pancakes weren't _that_ bad, were they? My dads seemed to lo - like them. "Baby?"

Quinn's forehead drops onto my collarbone, and her fingers grip my hips _hard_.

"Are you still mad at me?" I ask, sliding my fingers into her hair, and try to lift her head so I can see her face, but she resists. "I thought we talked about this. I told you I was - "

"Rachel," she interrupts, her voice softer now.

"Quinn, I'm really confused right now."

"Can't I just take a moment to be with my girlfriend?" she murmurs.

"Of course you can," I say. "But, you're also kind of freaking out said girlfriend, so why don't we do that thing we're constantly trying and failing, and use our words to explain what we're feeling?"

Quinn chuckles, and then _finally_ lifts her head. She presses kisses to my jaw and neck, which draws a quiet moan from deep in my chest. "I love you," she says breathlessly. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," I automatically say. "Now, can you please tell me what has you acting like this?"

She pauses her ministrations, but she won't look at me.

"Quinn?"

"You're going to be mad."

I automatically tense. "If you say that, then I'm inclined to believe you," I say. "Tell me anyway, and we're going to try to work it out."

She sighs heavily, and her breath is warm against my skin. "If we make it to the final day of Cheerleading Nationals, then there's a big chance we won't be able to get out to Chicago until the night before Glee Nationals."

I blink. "What?"

Her gaze meets mine. "Coach just told me this morning, Rachel," she says, and she sounds so serious. "Because of some kind of predicted tropical storm they're expecting, instead of the competition being on Monday and Tuesday, they've shifted it to Wednesday and Thursday," she explains slowly. "The Glee Club is supposed to be leaving for Chicago on Tuesday, but San, Britt and I are going to be in Malibu trying to win a National Championship." She looks utterly devastated, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say or do to make any of it better. "I need you to tell me it's going to be okay," she says, as if she's read my mind. _That's_ what I'm supposed to say. "I need you to tell me we're going to be able to do both; that there isn't going to be some grand Mother Nature plan to keep us from getting to Chicago in time. Tell me it's all going to work out, and that you'll forgive me if it doesn't."

There's a look of desperation in her eyes, and I don't know what to do with it, so I drag her into a hug so I no longer have to see it.

"I don't want to let you down," she whispers, and the words seem to slice straight through me. They carry so much meaning, and I can barely handle the truth that Quinn Fabray is willing to bend herself entirely out of shape because she doesn't want to disappoint _me_.

The importance of this moment isn't lost on me, and I release her enough to lift her head again. "I love you," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her soft lips. "I love you."

And then I proceed to tell her everything she needs to hear.


	53. fifty-three

**Chapter Fifty-Three**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _knowing your power is what creates humility._  
 _not knowing your power is what creates insecurity._

 _._

"Baby, we have to get to class."

In the back of my mind, I realise I _should_ be more concerned about the time, but I'm decidedly not. The only thing I can possibly register is that we're in a locked room, and I have my girlfriend pressed up against a wall. My brain's function has ceased beyond that, and my hands have taken on a mind of their own. There are times when even I can't believe my own sense of control around her, but I'm willingly giving in to my _desire_ to touch and taste and -

"Quinn," Rachel protests when my cool fingers dance over the skin at her hips, dipping under her top. "Quinn."

Unperturbed, my lips continue their assault on her lovely, delicious neck, and I manage to get a reluctant moan out of her. It comes out low and rumbling, and I groan at the _sound_. She tastes especially delightful today, and I'm on a little bit of a high just being able to breathe her in. Everything about this moment is overwhelming, and I can feel the blood rushing through my veins - majority of which is decidedly _not_ heading in a northerly direction.

My nails drag along her sides, and she whimpers. I can't stop my smirk as I drag my mouth down to her pulse point, feeling it thunder against my lips. Everything just feels heightened, and I absently wonder if it's just _Rachel_ or if it's the situation itself. We're at school, thoroughly making out in our choir room, and risking the possibility of getting caught.

I don't even care.

 _She's_ just so fucking intoxicating.

"Quinn," she gasps when I suck particularly hard on the soft skin of her neck. "I swear to Barbra herself, if you leave a mark on me, I'm going to - _Quinn_! _Oh, my God_!"

I chuckle to myself, pulling my mouth away with an audible 'pop' to survey my work. Oh, I'm _definitely_ going to leave a lovely love bite that she probably won't be able to hide, and I feel a certain sense of satisfaction at that.

She's _mine_ , and I'm _hers_.

"God, you're beautiful," I whisper in wonder as I stare at her face.

Her features soften, and I think I've just about won her over, so I go in to kiss her perfect, pouty lips, pressing my body closer.

Rachel's fingers slide into my hair, if only to force my head back so she can meet my gaze. "We are _not_ having sex in here," she says breathlessly.

"Okay," I say, nodding in agreement.

Her eyes search my face for a moment, and then she pulls me back in. This kiss is decidedly more heated and, if it were even possible, our bodies get even closer together. If it were possible, I would probably crawl right _into_ her and live there.

A distant part of my brain tells me we _really_ shouldn't be doing this, but it's Rachel's right hand that moves first. I will stand by that until the day I die. It slips under my uniform's top and she cups my left breast, drawing a moan from between my lips.

"We don't have time," I just about manage to remind her, a small smirk on my face.

 _She's_ the one who's fighting it now.

Rachel pulls back slightly, dropping her head against the wall behind her with a thud. She sucks in as much breath as she can as her eyes slip closed. I just watch and wait, expecting her to push me away or say something that's probably, definitely, going to kill the mood enough to get us both to disentangle.

She does none of these things.

Instead, she says, "Fuck it," and then pulls me back into a rough kiss, her legs immediately lifting off the ground and wrapping around my waist. Her ankles lock behind me, trapping me in position, and there is literally no other place on earth I would rather be. "You have three minutes," she says, breathless and needy as her left arm wraps around my neck, and the other -

Well, her right hand trails down my abdomen, and then dips lower, cupping my mound between our bodies over my Spanx. I don't even know where she finds the space; we're pressed so tightly together, but it feels so fucking good.

"Oh, God," I hiss.

"I prefer Rachel."

I growl. "Now is definitely not the time for - _oh_."

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

I narrow my eyes. "Are you just going to keep your hand there, or are you actually going to _do_ something?"

She pouts for a moment, before her smile turns devious. "I said _you_ have three minutes." She tilts her head to the side, regarding me carefully. "Well, less now, because _you're_ wasting time." She shifts her hand and presses the heel of her palm against my clit, forcing my hips to jerk. "So much heat," she says, breathless in wonder, and there is literally no way in hell we're both walking out of here until I get to _have_ her.

I surge forward, thrusting against her hand as I claim her lips in another searing kiss. It's like Heaven and Earth, just being able to kiss her; to feel her mouth move against mine. We both moan when her tongue slides against my bottom lip, and I automatically open to let her in. She isn't even asking permission.

She's just taking what's hers.

With her hand still in place, I increase the speed of my thrusts. Distantly, I hear the sound of the warning bell, but Rachel's left arm merely draws me closer, and _we're not moving_.

"Oh, God," Rachel moans. "Right there, Quinn. Right... there... yes!"

I cover her mouth with my own to muffle the sounds she's making because, sure, the door _may_ be locked, but it's doubtful it's soundproofed, and my girlfriend _can_ get loud. I suck on her tongue, drawing it into my mouth. It's warm and probing, and her moans are filling the space between us.

"Inside," she hisses, breathless and panting.

I pull back, momentarily thrown.

Rachel drops one leg to the ground, her other remaining wrapped around my hip. She's offering herself to me, and my hand moves immediately, sneaking under her skirt and shifting her panties to the side. I don't give her any warning as I plunge two fingers inside her, groaning at the soft, wet heat.

"Oh, baby, yes," she says, her own hand trying to fit in the space between us. She scrambles to get it into the waistband of my skirt, but the position is awkward, and all she manages to do is flick my clit a few times.

It's enough, though.

I manage to thrust twice more into her before _I'm_ coming and, four thrusts later, _she_ is. The moan she releases is long and drawn out, and I have absolutely no idea how I'm still standing. My muscles are burning, and I feel exhausted and sated, and how the hell am I supposed to get through the rest of this day?

Better yet, how am I supposed to look at the choir room the same way ever again?

Rachel draws me into a slow, languid kiss as our heartbeats slow and our breathing attempts to steady (the kissing isn't helping with that). "I love you," she whispers. "I love you, and please don't worry too much, okay? We're going to figure everything out. You'll see." Her fingers smooth down my hair. "You're going to end up giving yourself wrinkles with all the worrying you're doing."

I pout. "Will you still love me if I do?"

"Will _you_ still love me if _I_ do?"

I roll my eyes playfully. "Rachel, I love you in Argyle _now_ ," I say. "If that isn't a sign that I'll love anything and everything about you; then I don't know what is."

She shoots me a look of indignation, and then she smiles. "Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"You're still inside me."

I glance down, but her skirt is covering where my fingers are still nestled in her warmth. It's comfortable, safe. "Would you like me not to be?" I ask, only half-kidding.

She raises her eyebrows as her muscles clench around my fingers, and it's all the answer I need.

There's very little thinking that occurs after that.

We end up having even quicker and dirtier sex, Rachel's breath catching with every thrust right next to my ear as my fingers repeatedly _claim_ her.

Needless to say, we're both extremely late for class.

I barely even worry about my upcoming Nationals' dilemma, because I honestly can't get myself to stop smiling.

* * *

"Okay, you actually _look_ like you just got laid."

My head snaps to the side, my eyes immediately settling on Santana. "Hey," I say, shifting my bag off the seat I've unnecessarily been saving for her. I don't, for a second, think anyone would risk Santana's wrath by sitting next to me, but there are brave, delusional fools out there. "I need to talk to you about something."

Santana immediately tenses, and I almost laugh. Really, _those_ words hold way too much power. "Am I going to like it?" she asks as she slides into her seat and pulls out the notebook she needs for this class. We're in that 'Revision' stage of our classes, with Finals coming up and all our last papers due in the next two weeks.

I'm five seconds away from reaching a level of stress I didn't know was even possible.

"I don't know," I say, nudging her with my elbow. "Do you like _anything_?"

She shrugs. "That's true," she concedes. "So, what is it, Fabray?"

I shift slightly, angling my body to face her. "I wanted to talk to you about Prom," I say. "Do you have any plans for it, and what are they?"

Santana blanches slightly. "Why the fuck do I keep _forgetting_ about that stupid thing?"

I could probably come up with a couple of reasons, but I really don't want her to cause a scene - or myself any bodily harm. She also probably wouldn't appreciate my channelling Dr McMaster right now. "Are you going with Brittany?" I ask instead.

Santana seems to think about it. "I think so?"

It sounds like a question, and I frown. "You don't sound too sure about that," I point out.

"Things are a little... complicated between us at the moment," she offers as an explanation, which definitely isn't helpful at all. "I _would_ like to go with her, but she's not obligated to do that anymore. She can go with whomever she wants, and there's absolutely nothing I can say or do about it." She looks positively miserable about the truth of that statement, and I wonder if this is what Finn is feeling.

Having to stand back and watch the person you (claim to) love _not_ choose you.

No.

It's not the same.

Finn's apparent love for me doesn't hold a candle to what Santana feels for Brittany. It barely even compares, and it's taken me a while to accept that. He _never_ would have hurt me the way he did, and he definitely wouldn't have said all those things about and to me if he loved me even half as much as Santana loves Brittany.

This, I know to be true.

It's a fact.

It's practically written in the stars.

Or something like that.

"What are you and Berry doing?" Santana asks, getting the attention off herself by passing it onto me. If I wouldn't have done the same thing, I would definitely be more annoyed.

"She's going with Kurt, and I'm going with Blaine," I tell her, because we've _finally_ managed to sort ourselves out when it comes to this whole Prom thing.

"That _definitely_ isn't going to help with the gay rumours," she says, her voice dropping in volume.

I hum in agreement. "I think I'm at a point where I no longer care," I say, which doesn't look to be all that surprising to her. "We have a few weeks left in this place, and then Rachel and I get to get as far away from it as possible, and I'm so fucking _over_ high school."

Santana laughs for a moment, clearly agreeing with me, before she lets out a long sigh. "I think I might just skip the entire thing."

I level her with a glare. "Be serious, Lopez," I say. "We both know you're coming. Just ask Britt, okay? You can go as friends - who _don't_ participate in benefits - and we'll all have a great night."

Santana rolls her eyes. "You're delusional if you think we're going to have a 'great night,'" she says. "B and I are on the spritz. Lady Hummel and Bowtie barely speak to each other, and you have a football-player-sized stalker who can't seem to get it into his head that you don't want him. All we need now is for the Midget to lose it about something, and we're going to end up with a fucking disaster on our hands."

"Dont jinx us," I grumble. "Just ask her, put on a pretty dress, and come and have some fun with us."

She glares at me for a moment, and then nods. "My dress isn't going to be pretty, though."

"Okay...?"

"It's going to be sexy as fuck."

I chuckle. "I wouldn't expect anything else, San."

She looks over at me with an expression I don't recognise and, before I can even think to ask her about it, she's speaking again. "Wait, so, did you actually get laid?" she asks, almost purring.

All I do is smirk, which is answer enough.

She laughs. "On school grounds?"

In the time we've been friends, Santana and I have never _really_ talked about _my_ sex life. She's always been a bit of an over-sharer, but I was never quite able to discuss whatever Finn and I did with her - with anyone, really. Maybe it was my upbringing, or there was nothing really exciting about sex with Finn to discuss, but this is new for us, and I find I'm not immediately horrified by it.

I can't tell if it's because it's sex with _Rachel_ , or if it's because I've changed so much in the last few months. I don't think it matters, though, so I just nod. "In the choir room."

She exaggerates a gasp. "My my, this Berry chick has turned you into a deviant."

I laugh, tilting my head back in something that actually feels like happiness, just able to miss all the looks directed my way.

Santana grins in response. "Wanky."

* * *

"Go."

I just grin as Rachel places her hands on my chest and gently shoves me away.

"No, you have to go," she says. "You can't be here."

"Rach, baby, you _do_ know the Prom isn't like a wedding, right?" I tease. "We're not going to get bad luck just because I see your dress."

She huffs. "You're distracting me."

"I'm not even _doing_ anything."

"You're _breathing_ ," she counters immediately. "You don't have to do much else to distract me."

I step back into her space, loving the fact that these changing rooms are large enough to fit us both _and_ the way too many dresses on which she intends to try. "Now, if you're _really_ trying to get rid of me; you can't go around saying things like that."

Rachel just shakes her head, her hands sliding over my shoulders and into my hair, tugging playfully. "What am I ever going to do with you?"

I cock my head to the side. "I could think of a few things."

"And you call _me_ the insatiable one."

My jaw drops. "Oh, don't you even," I scoff. " _Who_ was it that attacked _me_ when we got home after Glee yesterday?"

"I did not _attack_ you," she defends, pulling me closer. "I simply dragged you up to my bedroom, undressed you and made you beg for it."

I sigh. "There you go again," I murmur. "So not helping your cause to get rid of me."

In response, she pulls me into a searing kiss that leaves us both breathless, and then _actually_ shoves me away. "I love you, but you need to go," she says, trying and failing to sound stern. "I have to try on these dresses, and I _know_ Blaine is waiting for you."

I just step back towards her.

"Quinn, no," she says, her voice shaky. "We - we are _not_ having sex in here."

"Funny," I murmur. "I distinctly remember you saying that just yesterday, and yet..."

She laughs nervously. "That was a lapse in judgment. Entirely too dangerous. We should definitely be more careful."

"We should," I agree, my right hand reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "We don't want to get caught, now do we?"

"No, we don't," she echoes.

"We definitely wouldn't want that."

Rachel studies my face for a long moment, her eyes searching for something. Whether she finds it or not, I don't know, but she does reach up to place a gentle kiss against my lips. "Will you please go?" she whispers against my lips. "I want to try on these dresses without you seeing them, and I know that doesn't make sense to you, but you love me and so you're still going to do it."

I sigh. "Using my feelings for you against me," I say, shaking my head. "That's below the belt, Berry."

"I promise I'll do other things below the belt later, Fabray."

I breathe out slowly, my eyes closing at the mental image of just what _that_ would entail.

She just laughs, and I growl, playfully snapping at the tip of her nose with my teeth. "I love you," she says. "Now, go."

After one last, lingering kiss, I do manage to leave, a gentle smile on my face.

Things are... okay.

I don't know what it is - I'm trying not to think about things too hard at the moment - but things really seem as if they're not entirely awful at the moment. And that's saying something, because _so much_ has happened in the last few months that just the thought of all of it is enough to leave me breathless.

Well, a lot of things leave me a little breathless these days.

It's partly my lung, but it's a lot of Rachel, _and_ what I learned from my bank. That's an entirely other issue that I'm going to have to discuss with Rachel. I'm not exactly looking forward to it but, after the entire Columbia mixup, I'm going for full disclosure.

But, one thing at a time.

As I emerge from the changing rooms, I smile at Kurt, who's looking at even more dresses for Rachel. Apparently, I'm crashing their Prom-Outfit-Shopping-Date, or something, but he's less irritated by it than she is, because he smiles right back at me.

"I like that one," I say, pointing to the flowing peach-coloured, strapless dress he's currently studying.

Kurt nods in approval. "I _have_ always admired your fashion choices."

I laugh. "Just don't tell her I saw it, or she'll throw a fit."

"I think we're due a fit, regardless of what I say or do today."

I roll my eyes. "She's your problem now."

"She's your problem _for life_ ," he counters, as if that's something I should be sad about.

"Indeed, she is," I agree, smiling widely. "I really wouldn't have it any other way."

He shakes his head. "God, you're both _disgusting,_ " he grumbles, but his smile belies his words.

I laugh gloriously, as I start to head out of the shop, leaving the two of them to their shopping. I trust Kurt to make sure Rachel picks out the best dress for her - even if it's _not_ the peach one - so I have very little to worry about. There's already a mountain of other things that deserve my attention.

Like my own date.

As I walk, I take out my phone to text Blaine.

 _Quinn: Are you still at the food court?_

The reply comes seconds later

 _ **Blaine: YES!**_

 _ **Blaine: Please come save me. Mercedes and Tina are talking about sequins. SEQUINS, Quinn! I willingly admit to being supremely gay, but that's a little too much for me.**_

I let out a laugh, and I really don't care about the looks I receive as I send my reply, setting off for the food court.

 _Quinn: Super Quinn to the rescue, then! Hang tight, I'm on my way._

 ** _Blaine: My hero!_**

I smile a little stupidly as I make my way through the mall, recalling the beginning stages of Rachel's and my friendship when she played the hero for me by keeping me distracted post breakup and ensuring Finn stayed away from me. We've come such a long way since then, and it's sometimes hard to believe this is now my life. If _anyone_ would have told me, back in November, that I would be ridiculously in love with Rachel Berry and going to Prom with Blaine Anderson; I probably would have died of laughter.

Or just died, without the amusement.

Because, seriously.

When I get to the food court, Blaine practically jumps to his feet when he spots me, and I can't hold back my laughter at his obvious relief. He rolls his eyes at me, and then steps away from the table, desperate to get away, even as Mercedes and Tina question him about his strange behaviour.

"Sorry, guys," I say to the table, answering their questions as my hand reaches out to grip Blaine's elbow. "I need to borrow Mr Bowtie here for, well, bowties."

The two of us don't wait for a response as we turn and walk away. I drop my hand once we've wormed our way through the tables and managed to emerge unscathed. The mall is quite busy for a Saturday, with little kids running around and parents chasing after them. There are also countless groups of high schoolers - some of whom I recognise, and who recognise me as well, which is so terribly unfortunate, it makes me want to scream - walking about as if they own the place.

God.

Was _I_ ever one of them?

Blaine nudges me with his elbow. "Are we _really_ looking for bowties?" he asks.

I nod. "Unless you want to wear a tie," I offer. "I finally decided on a dress, so I thought we could look for a bowtie to match. Or you could go with the standard black, if you prefer that." I pause. "You _do_ have a tux, right?"

Blaine looks scandalised. "I won't even quantify that question with a response."

"A simple 'yes' would have sufficed," I grumble, but I'm smiling.

He just laughs in response, and then we both grow quiet as we just walk. I just let him lead the way because, honest to God, I wouldn't know where to find a bowtie in this place. Blaine seems to, though, which brings a smile to my face as we enter an actual bona fide _tie_ shop. I didn't even know such things exist.

This entire situation _is_ slightly odd for me.

Before this year, Blaine and I didn't really interact with each other. He was always just _there_ , and I suppose Finn's odd 'aversion' to the former Warbler made it a bit difficult for the two of us to get to know each other, but he's genuinely my friend now.

I trust him.

He's one of the first people to know about my relationship with Rachel, and he still hasn't told a soul - he even kept it from his boyfriend to protect our privacy. I don't really know what that all is, but it definitely means something to me, and he's managed to claim a permanent spot in my cold dead heart. He's practically a wizard.

The two of us haven't really talked about his breakup with Kurt, and I get the distinct impression he doesn't actually _want_ to, so I won't push. I assume there's quite a bit about the entire situation none of us will ever truly know, and there's a part of me that suspects Blaine initiated the breakup for Kurt's own good.

I think we're the same that way - both of us wielding an odd sense of obligation and nobility. Willing to send off the people we love to live their best lives, even if it has to be without us.

Only, I suppose I'm more selfish.

I'm going to hold onto Rachel with every fibre of my being.

I can't imagine life without her.

I never want to.

"Say, Blaine?"

He glances at me as he brings us to a stop in front of a display of cufflinks, an expectant look on his face.

"Tell me the truth," I say, eyeing him carefully, searching for _something_. "Is this going to be too weird for you? This whole Prom thing?"

For a moment, he just stares at me, as if he hasn't actually given the entire situation enough thought. "I - I honestly don't know."

I smile in sympathy. "If it is, just tell me," I offer. "It's okay. I don't even want to go to this stupid thing, anyway."

"Sure, you do," he counters, stepping closer to me. "You talk a good game, Quinn Fabray, and, yeah, maybe you really don't care as much as you used to, but high school has been your domain since you walked into it, and you want to finish it on top. Prom Queen is one thing, but you're looking to show us all up with your dual Nationals' Titles _and_ your spot as Valedictorian."

I arch an eyebrow. "Well, I won't deny it when you put it that way," I say.

He laughs lightly, gently punching my shoulder. "Don't start going soft on me, Fabray. We have a Prom to _rock_."

I roll my eyes at his little speech. "Why do I get the feeling you've spoken to Rachel about this?"

He gives me a look of pure innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, and then heads off to look at the bowties.

 _Of course_.

I follow after him. "There better not be any sequins!"

* * *

Because my girlfriend is paranoid and sometimes neurotic - _her words, I promise_ \- she makes sure to hide her Prom dress in her fathers' closet, claiming she doesn't trust me not to peek at it if she leaves it anywhere else. It's probably the best spot she could choose, though, because I _definitely_ won't be sneaking into Hiram and LeRoy's bedroom to look into their _closet_.

No.

Just, no.

There are literally too many gay jokes to be made there, but I'm not going anywhere near them, not even with a six-foot pole. It's just that the men have already done so much for me, so I'm definitely not about to go poking through their things - as curious as I may be - and Rachel knows that.

"I could just ask Kurt," I say as we pull up at the park late Sunday afternoon.

"You _could_ ," she allows; "but you're not going to."

"You sound so sure of that."

She just smiles as me as she gets out of the car and grabs the blanket from the backseat. We're actually in my car today, which has been easier to drive in for both of us lately. Sometimes, while it's parked in the garage, I just sit in the driver's seat and, well, try not to panic.

Earlier, I even managed to turn the ignition myself, and Rachel got _way_ too excited over it.

"I _am_ sure," she says once we're on our way to _our_ spot. She smiles at me when I barely hesitate before slipping my hand into hers and linking our fingers. "You're too much of a gentlewoman to use Kurt against me."

At the sound of her words, I can't help my frown.

"What?"

I press my lips together. "Do you think people will do that?"

"Do what?"

"Look at us and try to determine who the 'man' is in our relationship?" I gently squeeze her fingers in an attempt to soften the indelicate question. "I mean, gender stereotypes will come into play, of course. I don't pay much attention to it, but is that the role I play between the two of us? The 'gentlewoman?'"

Rachel seems to give it some thought as we move through the trees in silence. When she finally speaks, she sounds thoughtful, and I'm relieved she's taking it seriously. "I don't think either one of us is relegated to any one _role_ in _our_ relationship," she says. "We're both distinctly feminine, so there's no expectation there. You open doors for me, and I open doors for you. We argue a little about who pays for things, but I think finances in general are an entirely different issue." She shrugs. "If anything, I think the only thing that's truly 'gentle _wo_ manly' about you is that you're taller than me."

"So, things would be different if _you_ were taller?"

She hums. "Maybe. I don't know." She runs her thumb over the back of my hand. "I think it's to do with personalities, mainly. Men, generally, like to be in control and, please don't take this the wrong way, baby, but so do you."

I don't respond, just waiting for her to elaborate.

"You like having control over our dates, and you like being the one to know what's happening at all times. You like the power it gives you to have a handle on any and every situation you find yourself in, with or without me. You normally take the lead whenever we go places or do things, and you also generally like to be the one to top me."

I swallow audibly, suddenly unsure about how I feel about all of this.

She must sense my discomfort because she brings us to a stop among the trees and tugs on my hand to make me face her. "It's nothing _bad_ , Quinn," she says. "In fact, I find it ridiculously sexy when you get all focused and determined. I _like_ when you dictate things, and I strongly believe it's nothing to do with gender roles." She pauses. "What was it like with Finn?"

It takes me a moment to think back. "I - I didn't really _let_ him lead," I eventually confess. "I don't think I trusted him enough to know what I liked and didn't like, in general."

Rachel nods in understanding. "See," she says. "It's not _us_ ; it's _you_ , and I don't care that you like a bit more control than I do, okay?"

"Does that make me controlling?" I ask. "Because, I'm pretty sure Finn called me that a couple of times."

Rachel growls lowly, and I just _have_ to kiss her for it. She's pouting when I pull away. "On my best days, I can almost forget you were ever in a relationship with him."

I kiss her again. "Me too."

She starts us walking again. "I'm sure there are lines that cross into being _too_ controlling," she says thoughtfully. "You haven't crossed them with me, and I don't think you did with him, either. If anything, I think _that's_ where gender comes into play. His ego probably just couldn't handle the fact that you held all the power in your relationship."

"And in this relationship?" I ask, oddly curious.

She glances at me. "Who has all the power?"

I nod.

"I don't think either of us has _all_ the power," she say. "Maybe we're sharing it."

"Maybe we don't have any power at all."

"What do you mean?"

I shake my head, just _knowing_ my next words are going to be the cheesiest ones I've ever said. "I don't know; I've just felt _powerless_ to _this_ and to _you_ from the very beginning."

She turns to me, a beaming smile taking hostage of her glorious face. "And then you go and say things like that," she practically sings, skipping over a large rock. "Just making me swoon and want to break into song and dance about how _happy_ I am."

"I love you."

"I know."

I just shake my head, as we emerge from the trees and into the meadow. It's quiet, the sun is shining, and I have the girl I love right by my side. How could _anything_ about my life be _so terrible_ right about now?

Rachel sets up the blanket, and then drops down onto it with a tired sigh. I just laugh as I sit gracefully, receiving a playful glare for my movement. "Stupid gazelle."

I arch an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"It's just not fair."

I lean forward to kiss the side of her head. "Life isn't fair, Berry."

She rolls onto her back and stares at me. "No," she says seriously. "It's not, is it?"

I sigh, absently wondering how it is we're constantly finding ourselves having such profound conversations. I mean, I _do_ intend to discuss something very important with her today, but I was kind of hoping to be able to enjoy a moment under the sun before we had to get to it.

"Quinn?" she questions, lifting herself into a sitting position and giving me her full attention. "Baby, what's wrong?"

I take in a deep, deep breath and then release it slowly. "I need to talk to you about something," I say, my heart suddenly beating a little faster.

Predictably, she looks wary. "What is it, Quinn?"

"It's actually funny that you mentioned, um, finances earlier, because it's kind of what I've been meaning to bring up to you for a little while," I tell her. "I haven't exactly been... forthcoming with all the details about my... current financial situation."

Rachel blinks. "Are you, umm, broke?" she asks. "Because, I mean, my dads are - "

"Rachel," I cut her off. "You're doing the New York thing again. Can I just explain the situation to you, and then we can talk about it?"

She presses her lips together and nods.

"After Glee on Wednesday, I met with my bank manager," I begin to explain. "You and I weren't exactly talking, so I asked Santana to take me because I wanted a clearer picture of my situation, you know? I just needed to know what I had to work with, now that I'm officially out of the house and away from my parents. I needed assurances that my parents wouldn't be able to touch any of my accounts." I swallow audibly. "And, well, they _can't_. It's - it's all mine."

When I'm silent for a while, she asks the question. " _What_ exactly is all yours?"

"I'm _not_ broke," I tell her, very carefully. "It's actually the complete opposite." I run a hand over my hair, smoothing it down. "I mean, I _knew_ I had the two trust funds, but I wasn't sure how much was actually in them. It's - it's a lot."

She blinks. "Okay...?"

"I won't have access to the second one until I'm twenty-one," I explain. "The first one opened when I turned eighteen, as you know, and that's what's going to get me through college and, well, as far as it takes me from there."

"Because you're going to be a forever student," she attempts to tease.

"Exactly," I agree with a gentle smile, before it fades. "I was worried," I confess. "I was worried I wouldn't get any access to either of them. That I would walk out of my parents' house with absolutely nothing, _again_ , but it's different this time. The situation isn't entirely hopeless, and I'll be able to support myself and _us_ without killing myself with endless jobs and praying for the tide to turn my way every chance I get."

"Quinn?" she says, reaching for my hands and bringing them into her warm lap. "You _do_ know we wouldn't have just let you _struggle_ on your own, right?"

"I know," I say. "I just - you've all already done so much for me, and I sometimes feel like a leech, and I want to be able to contribute, and I've never really known how to do that when I'm busy all the time and I've been in the hospital so much. And, I mean, it isn't even as if wanting to become a _writer_ offers any job security or guarantees of a steady pay check, and I just - "

"Quinn," she interrupts, looking amused. "God, you're so stinking cute, and I'm pretty sure I'm not as adorable as you are when I ramble," she says with a shake of her head. "Just another way life isn't fair."

I breathe out slowly. "I just want to be able to take care of you."

"But, you do."

"Financially."

"Quinn."

"No," I protest. "Just listen, okay? I _want_ to take care of you. I - I want all your dreams to come true, Rachel, and I want to do everything I can to help, okay?"

"Quinn."

"I looked up the cost of tuition for NYADA," I say, and she looks a bit stricken. "College is expensive, I know. NYADA is... a little higher than I anticipated, and I'm sure your fathers feel the same."

"They'll never say anything about it," she says sadly. "I feel... guilty, but - " she stops. "They keep telling me it's going to be okay, and they're going to make it work. They've always done everything they can to support my dreams, and they're not going to stop now."

"They're taking out a second mortgage," I tell her.

"What!" she practically shrieks. "How do you even know that?"

I flush under her gaze, refusing to admit that I've been poking around in places I probably shouldn't have. "I just know," I say. "And, I can help."

"Quinn, no."

"Just listen to me," I say. "I already _know_ how difficult it's going to be, Rach. LeRoy won't ever get a promotion at that hospital, and Hiram is a lecturer at a public university, so his salary isn't going to skyrocket. They also _won't_ ever give tenure to a gay man. They'll probably be _fine_. They'll make payments, and everything will be _fine_." I lick my lips. "Maybe they'll have to sell one of the cars. Maybe Hiram will have to tutor more. Maybe you won't get to see each other as often because making the trip is too expensive. Maybe things will get tight. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

"Maybe _you'll_ have to get a job to support yourself in New York, and living there isn't going to be cheap, even if you stay on campus. And your getting a job is going to take away from your rehearsals and studies and auditions and _seeing me_ , and I'm entirely too selfish for that. They're all maybes, and I hate them. I don't even _want_ them to exist, and, for once in my life, I can actually _do_ something about the situation.

"So, I'm going to. I'm going to pay for your tuition, and that should make everything easier for everyone. I know it'll never amount to everything you and your family have done for me and, no, I'm not doing it because I somehow feel obligated to do so. I'm doing it because I love you and I _want_ to do this. I've given it a lot of thought, okay? It's not some impulsive decision. For you to get where you want to go, we're all going to have to help, and this is how _I'm_ going to."

She squeezes my fingers tightly. "Quinn, I can't ask you to do that," she says.

"And that's why you're _not_ asking," I counter. "I'm offering. I _want_ to do this. For you, and for your future. For _our_ future."

She shakes her head. "Don't do that. You can't start talking about things like that, when you _know_ how it affects me," she says. "I won't let you give me _your_ money, Quinn. What if you need it? What if it runs out, and you need it, and I - "

"It won't," I tell her.

"You can't know that."

"I do," I counter.

"Quinn."

"It's millions, Rachel."

Her mouth snaps shut with an audible clack, and she just stares at me with wide eyes.

"It's millions," I repeat. "As long as I don't flunk out, my ride is secure," I say. "Please let me ensure yours is as well."

It takes another eleven minutes of completely unnecessary back and forth before she finally relents, her shoulders sagging. "Okay," she says, her eyes teary. "Okay," she repeats.

And, just as I'm about to smile in relief, victory, and all the other good things, she opens her mouth again.

"But you have to convince my dads first."

Well, _fuck_.

* * *

Rachel _may_ think she has me beat, but I _know_ LeRoy, and we want the same things. It's the number one thing that binds us: Rachel comes first. She's the priority, even if she tries to convince me that I have to make myself my number one.

Honestly, it completely baffles me that she even _thinks_ that's an actual thing.

So, I talk to LeRoy when he picks me up after the evening service at church. Admittedly, I'm a little nervous about it, because I wouldn't know how to feel if I had some girl offering to pay for _my_ daughter to go to school. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like it but, if anyone can convince him this is the only way forward, I know I can. I mean, I managed to convince Rachel, and that's half the battle, right?

Uh. Wrong.

"No," is all he says once I've finished my little speech, and I instantly deflate. Okay, I'm not naive to think it would be _that_ easy, but he sounds so _firm_ that even I question my resolve.

I look out at the view in front of us. It's some kind of panorama that he brought us to when he realised we were going to have a serious conversation. I clasp my fingers in my lap, and search for the words.

"Lee," I say. "I _want_ to do this."

"Why?"

I blink. "Uh, I'm pretty sure I just told you."

"No," he says. "You told me a lot of things, Quinn, but I still don't know _why_."

"But I just _told_ you," I say, flabbergasted. "I literally just laid out all the reasons why this is the best thing for everyone."

"Including you?"

"Yes...?"

LeRoy turns his body to face me. "I won't accept your money until I know why you're really giving it," he says. "Is it some kind of penance?"

I frown. "For what?"

"I don't know," he says. "You're the one who believed, not too long ago, you were unworthy of attention and kindness and love." He smiles softly when I flinch at the sound of his words. "I want to make sure you're not doing this because you feel as if you _have_ to. Love is something we give freely in our family, Quinn. It's not something to be bought. We're not - "

"The Fabrays," I finish for him, understanding what he's trying to say. "Okay, I get that," I say; "and that is _not_ what this is."

"Are you sure?"

I don't answer immediately. I _did_ bring this up with Rachel earlier, and I'm quite certain I've worked through my own feelings about it. "Look, I'm not going to lie and say that there isn't a part of me that _does_ feel indebted to you and Hiram," I quietly admit. "You offered me a safe place and an actual _chance_ when I was lost and confused, and I'll forever be grateful for that. You've given me a _home_ , and you've given me love and care, and that means more to me than I could ever express." I breathe out slowly. "But, most importantly, you've given me _Rachel_ , and there isn't any amount of money in this world worth that."

He just waits.

"If I wanted to make up for all of that, I probably would have contributed more to groceries or something," I tell him. "I mean, I know I do chores and all that, and I feel as if you treat me as one of your own, but I can't help feeling like I could do more... in that regard." I sigh. " _This_ isn't like that. This is about my future, as much as it's about Rachel's. Life is already hard enough and, whether we want to accept it or not, money has the power to make things easier if it's used right, and that's what I intend to do. I know what it's like to be homeless and reliant on people who aren't even my family before, and it feels nothing like I feel now. It's - it's different this time, because _I'm_ different and _you're_ different and, if the one good thing to come out of my entire experience with my own family is financial security, then I'll take it."

We sit in silence for a long while.

"It's a lot of money," he eventually says.

"I know," I say. "But she's worth it."

He shakes his head. " _Quinn_."

"It's really an investment," I say, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm _investing_ in Rachel and, when she makes her Broadway millions, I'm so going to cash in."

He lets out an unexpected laugh. "And you've spoken to her about all of this?"

I nod.

"Why did you bring it up to me and not Hiram?"

It's a question I expected, but I still don't know how to answer it.

"Or even both of us?"

I glance at him. "Divide and conquer," I offer with a sheepish smile. "I don't really know. Hiram and I might have more in common literary-wise, but you and I understand each other the most." I press my lips together. "Particularly when it comes to Rachel."

He regards me for a moment. "I worry sometimes," he says. "That you're both too young for a love like this."

"Oh?"

"But you're both old souls, aren't you? Forced to grow up far too soon."

"I still think I'm pretty young when it comes to love," I confess. "I feel as if I'm constantly learning something new every second we're together."

"And, I hope that never fades, Quinn."

"Me too."

We fall into silence again, each of us lost in thought.

"So," I eventually say; "if I'm reading this conversation correctly, you're saying yes, right? You're agreeing?" I nervously bite at my bottom lip as I wait for his response, refusing to look him in the eye.

He eyes me for a long moment, and then he lets out a laugh as he shakes his head. "Let me guess," he says. "You've already settled the account, haven't you?"

I give him an innocent look. "What? Me?" I can't suppress my grin, particularly when he snorts in disbelief. "I would _never_ do such a thing."

His grin matches mine as he starts the car. "You've been spending far too much time with Rachel."

As if I would have it any other way.


	54. fifty-four

**Chapter Fifty-Four**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _just for tonight… just for tonight.  
_ _be the tenderest thing.  
_ _in the universe._

 _._

"Okay, everyone, let's take five."

After all my years in Glee, I didn't think I would actually be one of those who actually breathes a sigh of relief to get _some_ respite from Mr Schuester's suddenly-intense rehearsal schedule. We've been working on our group numbers nonstop since we walked into the auditorium this afternoon, and my quads are starting to ache. My throat is also a little tired.

It _may_ be an exclusively 'group number' but even I know my voice is heard the most, followed closely by Finn's, Blaine's and Kurt's. I'll be the first to admit the numerous run-throughs are taking its toll, and vocal, mental and physical exhaustion are starting to kick in.

Of course, though, Quinn, Santana and Brittany barely look as if they've broken a sweat, and I'm both envious and impressed.

And _a lot_ turned on.

(By the sight of my girlfriend _only_.)

It's become a bit of a problem, actually. I just can't seem to get enough of Quinn, and we've been going at it like the world is about to end. Every chance we get, whether we even have time or not, we're engaged in _something_. I think she's starting to enjoy the danger of it a little too much, though, because she gets this spark in her eye that is _even more_ of a turn on.

Okay, so, it's _really_ turning into a problem.

Or, not at all, depending on who you ask.

"Rachel?"

I spin around to look at Mr Schuester, blinking away the image of a panting and very naked Quinn Fabray from my mind. "Mr Schue?"

He waves a hand, prompting me forward, and I approach him slowly. "I was wondering if we could discuss the setlist," he says, somewhat warily. It's as if he's struggling to meet my gaze.

I nod, giving him my full attention. I'm always happy to discuss the setlist. He should know that, by now. "I think the group numbers are coming along great," I tell him, because it's the truth. He _finally_ seems to be taking this entire thing seriously and, frankly, with just three weeks to go, I'm immensely relieved he's taken the initiative.

"It seems they are," he agrees quietly; "but I'm actually more interested in the solo and duet, right now."

"Oh?"

He looks worried for a moment, before he clears his throat. "It's actually my intention to scrap the duet," he says, and then pauses, as if he expects me to say something. When I don't, he just continues. "Instead, I want to give the other girls the opportunity to showcase their voices."

"The... other girls?"

"You're our soloist, Rachel," he says, as if it was always a given - which, let's be serious, it _should_ have been. "You _are_ our best singer," he adds a beat later, and I'm surprised it doesn't look as if it pains him to say such a thing. To my face, no less. I imagine a lot of things have changed about everyone's lives in the few months that Quinn has been in _my_ life the way she has. "Anything else just wouldn't make sense."

For the first time, I glance over my shoulder at Quinn, unsurprised to find her eyes on us. I wonder if she has anything to do with this, but I don't even know how that could be. What would she even have said to Mr Schuester? Why would she, anyway?

"Any thoughts?" Mr Schuester questions.

It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts, forcing away the list of things I would like to do to and with Quinn if the blonde truly is responsible for this agreeable teacher in front of me. "Well," I say; "you know, I'll never turn down a solo."

He smiles in relief. "Do you have any ideas for songs?"

"Of course," I say, doing my best to return his smile. "I'll compile a list, and maybe we can go through it?"

"Sounds good."

"I have a few ideas for the girls as well, if nothing comes up," I offer. There are so many songs that will let Mercedes, Santana, Tina, even Quinn and Brittany shine in her own respect, and I'm all for that. As Team Captain, girlfriend and friend.

But mainly the first two, if I'm being honest. I _really_ want to win, and I _really_ enjoy a happy, smiling girlfriend.

Maybe it's just me.

"Compile a list of those, as well," Mr Schuester says. "Something tells me we're going to have a tough time deciding on one song, let alone two."

* * *

Mr Schuester isn't entirely wrong about that.

The adjusted setlist goes down surprisingly well, with only Finn and Kurt grumbling a bit, but they are easily silenced when Mr Schuester reminds them of their lines in the group numbers. I have to admit that I like this 'take-charge' Mr Schuester when his ideas actually make sense and he isn't trying to torpedo our chances of winning by giving everyone 'a chance' just to placate them.

We're going to Chicago to _win_ , and everyone _finally_ seems to be on the same page about that.

With Santana and Mercedes leading the second number (after the solo), there are a few clashes. Brittany and Quinn play peacemakers as well as they can, and Tina just tries to get a word in. Sugar is content to let them fight it out, and I just watch with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Quinn is positively adorable when she gets flustered, and she looks borderline helpless when she has to insert herself between Santana and Mercedes.

"It's a terrible song," Santana argues strongly.

"Just because your vocal range can't handle it, doesn't mean it's awful," Mercedes shoots right back.

Quinn scrubs her face with both hands and then places her palms on each girls's chest, forcing them backwards. "Both of you, shut up," she says, finally snapping. I'm surprised it's taken her this long. "Clearly, we're not getting anywhere with that song choice and, frankly, I _don't_ want to be singing it."

"Neither do I," Tina adds.

"Me too," Brittany offers.

"Hah," Santana says, trying to get in Mercedes' face.

Quinn keeps her back with a pointed look. "Having said that, your suggestions aren't working either, San," she says. "I _know_ you two are going to be leading the vocals, but _we_ have to sing as well, and I would really like to do more than just stand in the back and - " she stops suddenly, frowning. "Never mind."

Santana's fire goes out immediately and she turns curious eyes on her best friend. "What, Q?"

Quinn shakes her head. "Don't worry about it," she says dismissively, and I frown. What was she going to say?

Santana glances at me, asking the question, and I just shrug in response. I'm as in the dark about this as she is, though Brittany seems to have figured it out, because she slips an arm around Quinn's waist and hugs her close. Quinn drops a kiss to Brittany's forehead, and then continues speaking.

"We're not going to get anywhere if we're going to keep clashing," she says. "Mr Schuester left us in charge of this decision, and I think we should do him a solid and actually make a good one." She runs a hand through her short hair, still slightly damp from our endless rehearsals. "We're definitely singing songs by female artists," she says. "I like B's mashup idea of Adele's _Rumour Has It_ and _Someone Like You_. Santana and Mercedes will do really well with that."

Watching Quinn like this, playing diplomat while still maintaining authority, makes me wonder why Mr Schuester _ever_ thought _Finn_ would be a worthy leader. Quinn does it so effortlessly, easily recognising what her audience needs from her and giving it willingly and smartly. She just has this undeniable presence about her and, from the look of the room, every eye is on her, watching and waiting for guidance.

Quinn smirks ever so slightly, knowing she's got them exactly where she wants them. It's probably the sexiest thing I've ever seen, and I'm convinced she's going to rule the world, one day. If I'm lucky, she'll want me with her.

Behind her.

Under her.

Kneeling in front of her.

Anywhere, really.

Just, with her.

"I like Sugar's idea of singing some Lady Gaga," Quinn says, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Someone misunderstood and true, unafraid to show the world exactly who she is by embracing her eccentricities and craziness. I think we've got enough divas in this little band of misfits to pull it off, provided we pick the right song." And, with that, she lets them loose to discuss songs, and then saunters up to me, that smirk in full bloom now.

"You're a wizard," I murmur when she's close enough.

Her smirk turns into a knowing grin. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I hook my fingers into the waistband of her skirt, the action hidden by her body, and tug her closer. "You are also _very_ sexy," I purr.

Quinn's eyes darken almost instantly, and I'm so relieved to know I'm not the only one dealing with this raging libido. "You don't get to say that to me in here," she says, muttering under her breath. "Are you _trying_ to torture me?"

I merely shrug. "So, what song are you going to get them to choose?" I ask, and she laughs this glorious laugh that has my fingers clutching at her clothing. I want her. I desperately want her.

Quinn cocks her head to the side. "What makes you think I'm even _capable_ of doing such a thing?"

"Because you're Quinn Fabray," I tell her. "You can be - "

"A manipulative bitch when I want to," she finishes in a voice so small that I almost miss it.

"Uh, no," I say, frowning. "I was going to tease you about being diabolical, but I see now that we're actually dealing with a much bigger issue."

She sighs. "Aren't we always?"

"It doesn't matter to me," I tell her. "I _love_ you, and we're going to work through everything together, okay? You and me, Quinn Fabray." I breathe out slowly. "Also, you're _not_ a manipulative bitch, and I would thank you not to refer to my girlfriend that way every again."

She just manages to smile sadly at me before Santana is hurtling a pencil at the back of Quinn's head. It misses, thank goodness, but we both turn to glare at her. How _dare_ she attempt to hurt my girlfriend?

Santana falters ever so slightly under our twin glares, and I have to suppress a grin. Eventually, she recovers enough to say, "Hey, fearless leader, are you planning on weighing in here, or are you going to make us do all the work like always?"

Before Quinn can answer, I step forward, feeling entirely too smug. "Why, Santana," I practically sing-song. "I didn't know that was how you saw me."

Santana sputters for a moment, and then rolls her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Berry," she drawls. "What were you and my home girl talking about, anyway?"

Quinn arches an eyebrow, and I furrow my brow because Santana is asking the question as if she knows.

And, okay, she probably _does_.

Part of it, at least.

Quinn, thankfully, ignores the question, and settles on a stool next to Brittany. "Have we picked a song yet?" she asks, and then glances at me. It's just a moment, but the wink is unmistakable. She mouths the words, _Watch this_ , and then I proceed to witness the masterful tactician that is Quinn Fabray manage to convince a room full of strong female personalities that picking _Edge of Glory_ is actually _their_ idea.

My girlfriend, everybody.

Diabolical, I tell you.

* * *

"You talked to him, didn't you?"

Quinn lifts her head from where she's sprawled out on my bedroom floor. She looks suitably exhausted, having spent the last two hours running through her Cheerios routines on repeat. She has a pretty nasty bruise on her left hip that she _tried_ to hide from me, but my _attack_ on her when she got home revealed it pretty quickly. She should know better by now, anyway.

"Mr Schuester," I clarify when her brow furrows in confusion.

She drops her head, groaning. "I don't know what you're talking about," she mumbles, bringing a hand up to rub at her tired eyes. From where I'm sitting, I can sense her tension, as if she's expecting me to berate her for getting involved where she thinks I believe she shouldn't have.

"Quinn," I say, slipping off my chair and crawling across the carpet towards her. "It's okay if you did," I assure her, lifting one leg over both of hers and kneeling on either side of her thighs, my palms flat on the floor beside her head. "I'm not mad."

Her eyes study my face cautiously. "I still don't know what you're talking about."

I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling. "I actually really appreciate it," I inform her. "I've been trying to think of an... appropriate way to thank you." I don't miss the way her breath catches, and she swallows tightly. "But... I mean... if you're saying you don't know what I'm talking about, then you shouldn't be the person I should be thanking, right?" I tilt my head to the side, thoughtful, and then I start to move off her.

Quinn's fingers hook into the waistband on my sweatpants. "Just _where_ do you think you're going?" she asks, her tone holding enough HBIC authority to shoot heat straight down my body, pooling between my legs.

"Uh, to thank whoever talked to Mr Schuester," I manage to say, my voice remaining surprisingly steady.

She arches an eyebrow, and the mere action freezes me in place. "You're not going anywhere," she says. Then, in total contradiction, she says, "Stand up."

"What?"

"Stand. Up."

And, well, I do. Even though I'm so confused and worryingly aroused, I obey. I scramble to my feet and straighten.

Quinn's eyes trace the length of my body. "Take off your clothes."

I just stare at her, dumbfounded.

"Don't make me tell you again," she says, sitting up slowly. "Take off your clothes. Now."

I think I surprise us both by how fast I actually do it, stripping to nothing in an instant. There's just something about this moment that _feels_ different, and I'm unsure why or how that could be. Maybe whatever 'take-charge' she instilled in Mr Schuester has bled into her. It's wildly sexy, and I can feel my entire body vibrating with anticipation. I'm immensely satisfied with our sex life, but anything new is always welcomed.

It's exciting.

Quinn's dark eyes trace my body again, her lips quirked into a small smirk. For so long, neither of us says a word. Somehow, I just know I should be silent. She's thinking. She's _wanting_.

I shift under her gaze, embarrassingly aroused. The girl hasn't even _touched_ me.

Eventually, Quinn's mouth stretches into a smile, and her gaze drops to the apex of my thighs. With her right hand, she points where her gaze has landed. "I want _that_ , right _here_." And now she's pointing at her mouth.

Despite the shiver that shoots down, and then back up my spine, I frown. Why isn't _she_ moving?

"Berry," she says coolly as she lies back down. "Don't make me tell you again."

 _Okay_.

I take a step forward, still unsure. I don't know where she wants _me_. "Quinn?" I question, my voice low, as if I know I probably shouldn't be speaking.

Her expression remaining unchanged, Quinn lifts her hands and pats the spaces beside her head. "Knees here," she says. "Face the bed."

I just stare at her for the longest time. Did she just say she wants me to -

"Berry," Quinn says again, impatience creeping into her tone. "Don't keep me waiting."

I still hesitate. We've never done _this_ before, and there's a part of me that's slightly wary. What brought it on? Is it always going to be like this now? What happens if -

"Rachel," Quinn says, suddenly exasperated. "Will you stop overthinking things and just come over here and fuck my face already?"

I don't really know why it happens, but I burst out laughing.

And, mere seconds later, Quinn joins me, and I quickly forget what we're even laughing about. Slowly, though, our laughter tapers off, and she waves a hand. "Come here," she says, and her reverent tone gets me moving immediately. When I'm close enough, Quinn's right hand tugs on my left calf. "Sit," she says, and I'm amazed she still wants to go through with it. "Now."

I hesitate for only a beat, thinking about the logistics of her request, and then I'm shifting downwards until my knees are situated on either side of her head, my aching centre hovering over her smirking mouth that looks decidedly eager to taste. My entire body flushes at the obvious desire blazing in her eyes. I have exactly four seconds more to feel embarrassed before Quinn's tongue darts out and licks at my slit.

We moan at the same time, mine predictably more desperate than hers. Sometimes, I think Quinn prefers using her mouth than her fingers. She's wickedly good at it, precise and just -

My hips buck when her tongue finds my swollen clit, circling it once, twice before moving down again and teasing my entrance. My nerves are shot, burning with excitement, and my breathing is ready to skyrocket.

"Quinn," I murmur, my head lolling, my back arching and my hips thrusting against Quinn's swirling tongue. "Oh, God." My heart is thundering in my chest. "Quinn, please." I don't even know what I'm asking for, but I feel Quinn _smile_ down there, and I almost come apart at the seams.

"So good," Quinn groans, her hands moving to grab at my hips, in an attempt to keep me steady as her lips latch onto my little bundle of nerves and _suck_. The gasp I let out echoes around the room, and it's heaven. Everything about Quinn is just _heaven_.

"Quinn!" I cry out when she sucks even harder, and I fall forward, landing on my palms when I can't hold myself up anymore. Quinn's teeth graze against my clit, and my eyes screw shut. "Yes, please. _Please_. Yes, yes, oh, yes."

I look down and meet Quinn's eyes, seeing all of her own want and desire in those beautiful hazel eyes. Quinn whimpers under the intensity of my gaze, and her hands start to move all over my body, caressing my breasts, cupping my ass and scratching along the skin of my thighs. Her thumb and forefinger twist around a nipple, and my entire body jerks at the sensation.

"Quinn," I pant. "Oh, Quinn, yes. _Please_..." I _still_ don't even know what I'm begging for, but Quinn must know because her tongue is _right there_ , licking and sucking and penetrating, and I find myself letting out a low moan and melting against her.

Did I mention how good Quinn is at this?

"More," I find myself saying, and I grind my hips. I cry out a startled _Quinn_ when her lips wrap around my clit again, sucking hard. "I'm - so - close," I stutter, approaching the edge faster and faster. My heart is racing, my blood running hot, burning me from within my very veins. Quinn takes me higher and higher, until my muscles suddenly tense without warning, sending me into a powerful release.

The waves of my climax wash everything away, overtaking every thought, and all that's left is Quinn's still-moving tongue as she extends the pleasure, driving me higher as her name leaves my mouth in a breathless cry.

Quinn moans softly, slowly stroking me one last time, from entrance to clit, gently kissing the pulsing bundle of nerves. It's such a sweet gesture, and I feel tears spring to my eyes. I try to blink them away, my body suddenly feeling boneless. Mindful of Quinn below me, I fall to the side, giving her room to breathe. Her quick breaths fill the silence, as I slowly come down from my monumental high.

We're definitely doing that again.

My eyes slip closed as my body attempts to recover, taking its time to calm my speedy heart. This was definitely not what I was expecting when we got home, that's for sure, and I'm sure as hell not complaining.

When I've caught my breath, I just about manage to sit up, my eyes on Quinn's face. She hasn't bothered to clean herself up, and her wet mouth is spread into a content smile that makes me want to cry and laugh and kiss every inch of her skin while telling her how much I love her all at the same time.

"I love you," my mouth says, and I don't even care that my brain isn't fully on board yet.

Quinn's gaze searches for mine, and her smile widens for a moment, before it fades. She traps her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly looking nervous. "Was - was that okay?" she questions softly. "I know we haven't done anything like that before, but I want us to be able to try new things, and I imagine you would have said something if you didn't actually - "

"Quinn," I interrupt, smiling at her rambling. How is that people think _I'm_ the rambler in this relationship? "It was perfect," I say.

She blinks. "Really?"

"Really," I say. " _You_ are amazing."

Quinn's blush blooms across her face, and I want nothing more than to kiss her. But, before I can make a move, she's rising up and getting to her feet.

"Where are you going?" I ask, trying and failing to keep the panic out of my voice.

She gives me a look that's a cross between curiosity and amusement. "Umm, the bathroom," she says. "Is that okay with you?"

I shrug. "Only if you come back naked."

Her eyes alight at the sound of that, and my arousal pools between my legs once more. "That can be arranged," she says, and then disappears into the bathroom. She doesn't bother to latch the door, but it may as well be closed.

I sit for a few minutes, trying to replay everything that's happened today. For whatever reason, today, this moment, feels important. I don't even know why. Nothing monumental has even happened. So what if Quinn spoke to Mr Schuester? So what if our Nationals' setlist _isn't_ going to give me a migraine and heart palpitations? So what if my girlfriend is literally the sexiest thing I've ever laid eyes on? So what if -

I lose my train of thought when the bathroom door opens and Quinn steps out.

Completely naked.

My mouth drops open, going dry instantly. Quinn's body is... I don't even know the words to describe it. She's just so beautiful, and I can't take my eyes off her if I try. Which I'm not even going to attempt to do. She's mine, and I'm allowed to look, so I do.

I can't look away.

Quinn moves towards me, and holds out her hands. "Come on," she says, immediately pulling me to my feet when my fingers link with hers. "I don't know about you, but I _do not_ want carpet burn."

It amazes me, really, that Quinn Fabray can be so many people in this one, amazing body. For a while, I wondered which was the _real_ her - she wondered too, if we're being honest - but I think we've both come to the conclusion that they're _all_ her. Every single aspect of every piece of person she allows the world to see makes up this phenomenal human being who is _mine_.

She's mine, and the sheer force of that realisation is overwhelming and _everything_.

"Also," Quinn says. "You should know that you aren't going to be allowed to mark me in any way."

I frown. "Okay..." I mumble. "Do I get to know why?"

"Coach's orders," she says with a shrug. "She wants us unblemished for Nationals."

I roll my eyes.

"Don't you dare get me in trouble, Berry," she warns. "She'll make a spectacle of me, and then everyone will know I'm having sex with _someone_ , and then the whole fucking school is going to burn or something equally tragic. They'll launch an investigation and question all my friends, and there'll be a poll, and _just don't_."

I can't help my giggle. "Such a drama queen."

Quinn's hands slips around my waist. "I love you," she murmurs.

Before I can reply, she's releasing me and gently backing me towards the bed. I fall onto the edge and sit, blinking stupidly. Quinn climbs onto the bed behind me, and I track her movement with keen eyes. Even though she's not looking at me, it's obvious she can feel my eyes on her.

As if I would be looking _anywhere else_.

Quinn just smiles softly, seductively and very effectively, as she slides backwards on the mattress until her back is leaning against the headboard. She arches an eyebrow in expectation, crooking one finger in a 'come hither' motion, and I'm powerless to deny her.

Breathing a dreamy sigh, I crawl towards her, asking the silent question. She just spreads her arms, inviting me forward, and I settle into her lap, straddling her naked thighs. She barely gives me any time to get comfortable before her cool fingers are trailing the length of my spine and her warm lips are pressing against the valley of my breasts. If I wasn't already so turned on, I would be now.

(Even though, lately, I feel as if I'm _always_ turned on. It really doesn't take all that much, which I'm less embarrassed about than I should be.)

I can't help but hiss when her nails scrape over the curve of my ass, and my hips jerk automatically. I place my hands on her shoulders for support, leverage, _something_. Quinn lifts her head, glancing left and right at my hands, before she smiles lazily. There's undeniable heat in her hazel eyes, and I actually whimper at the sight.

Quinn's smile widens. "Hi," she says, her voice rough with _want_.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," I murmur, unable to _handle_ whatever is happening right now. She's barely even touching me.

"What do you want?" she whispers, her warm breath washing over my skin. "Tell me, what do you want?"

"You," I gasp, my grip tightening on her shoulders. "I want _you_."

"How?"

"What?"

"How do you want me?"

Quinn and I generally don't talk all that much during sex. Our mouths are usually used for other things, and I find that her fingers speak a language I don't even need to _hear_.

"How?" she questions. "Like this?"

I gasp when she runs a finger along my slit, and my hips jerk again. "Yes," I say. " _Please_."

Quinn's fingers trail over the inside of my thighs, making me quiver with anticipation. I can't help the mewling sound that escapes my lips as my fingers curl into her skin. I practically want to beg, demand, plead for her to just _touch_ me already.

But then she is.

Touching me.

"Is this what you want?" Quinn asks, her voice deep and intense as her fingers twist and thrust until I'm helplessly grinding into her hand, practically _weeping_ with pleasure. It's not going to take long at all. I can already feel it. I'm almost there.

So, so close.

"Please, Quinn," my mouth says, begging for _something_. Whatever that is, Quinn presses a firm thumb to my clit, and I rock backwards as my orgasm hits, suddenly grateful for the secure hold she has around my waist. The world explodes all around me, and I swear I see stars as my fingers threaten to cut into her skin.

Quinn doesn't stop. She's relentless, and my hips continue to move of their own accord. I can barely stay upright, but Quinn's arm supports me as her fingers move at an almost punishing pace, winding the coil in my abdomen until I lose all sense of time and space.

When the coil finally releases, I'm a helpless mess, clawing at my headboard - instead of Quinn's perfect skin, because I'm apparently not allowed to mark her anymore - and sobbing into Quinn's shoulder from its intensity. I think I lose consciousness, I'm not sure, but I feel Quinn's fingers stroke the skin of my back, which makes me shiver. Her lips are on my skin as we both wait for my body to stop trembling. I'm leaning heavily on her, because I definitely don't have the energy required to support myself.

Or the mental faculties to make sense of what's just happened.

Quinn kisses my neck, humming softly as she cradles me against her body. I can't bring myself to _think_ , let alone move. "Is _that_ what you wanted?" she murmurs.

"God, yes," I breathe into her neck, and she chuckles softly. "You're entirely too smug right now."

"Can you blame me?" she almost sings. "I'm pretty sure you passed out, Rach."

"Shut up," I grouse into Quinn's neck.

"I am so in love with you," she whispers, and I lift my head to look at her face. She's flushed and her eyes are dark with arousal and _so much love_. Her hair is a wild mess and, I swear, I've never seen anything more perfect in my life.

"Thank you, Quinn," I say, pressing a kiss to her lips. It's hard to imagine I haven't even _kissed_ her since... well, three orgasms ago.

"For what?"

"Without even knowing it, _you_ are exactly what I needed," I tell her. "You're what I've always wanted, and I didn't even know it."

Her smile turns smug. "Didn't see it coming, huh?"

I press my lips to hers again. "No, I didn't," I admit because, _God_ , _who did_? "But I've always liked surprises."

"And, that's a lie," Quinn says, rolling her eyes. "I bet you have a _PowerPoint_ prepared to explain to the Universe why you need an itinerary for the rest of your life."

I swat at her shoulder. "Don't even sit there and tell me you don't want even a little head's up?"

She arches one of those perfect eyebrows. "Actually, I find I'm quite content to sit back and let my life play out the way it has," she says casually. "I'm rather enjoying where I am right now."

"What? Me on top of you?"

Quinn cocks her head to the side. "Why? Would you rather be beneath me?"

I _should_ be exhausted, but my libido is off the charts, and I haven't even _thanked her_ yet. "Nope," I say. "I think I like you _exactly_ where you are."

* * *

"Is this what it's going to be like to be an _actual_ adult?"

I look over the top of Quinn's head at Santana, who's sprawled out over the right sight of my bed, half her body covering Quinn's. Brittany is spread out over the both of them, all three of them completely _exhausted_ after a gruelling cheerleading practice.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my fingers threading through Quinn's hair as her head rests in my lap.

"I feel like all I'm doing these days is complaining about how fucking tired I am," Santana grumbles, shifting slightly. "I think we're going to need Mr Schue's crazy ex-wife's magic pills to get us through all these rehearsals. Coach is fucking relentless."

Quinn turns her head slightly. "She better buy us unicorns when we win," she mutters.

Brittany perks up at the sound of that. " _Rainbow_ unicorns," she says dreamily.

I look down at Quinn, who is already looking at me. Her expression is soft, gentle, and I can tell this moment is very special to her. Though she's never expressly mentioned it, I do suspect there's a part of her that was always worried I wouldn't necessarily get along with her two best friends. Maybe there would be too much history, or we just wouldn't click, but here we are.

Here we are.

I bend to kiss Quinn's temple, smiling at the way her eyes close and she nuzzles my thigh. I smile against her skin and whisper that I love her. She hums in response, and I've never quite felt this content before. We have _so much_ coming up; so much that's expected of us, but I can't bring myself to worry about any of that as I sit here with three of the most important people in my life.

Honestly, if anyone told me I would even be entertaining that thought at the beginning of this year, I probably would have had them committed.

And yet.

Here we are.

Before I can stop it, my mouth is opening to speak. "I love you, guys," I say, barely even blushing at the confession.

Brittany is the first to respond. "I love you too, Rach," she says. "I love you _all_."

Quinn turns her head to look up at me. "I love you," she whispers. "Much more than I love those two parasites, that's for sure."

Brittany giggles, and I bend to kiss Quinn's forehead.

Almost as one, Quinn, Brittany and I all turn to look expectedly at Santana, who's decidedly _not_ looking at any of us. I didn't even _think_ it would be any different.

Quinn pouts. " _San_."

"Yeah, _San_ ," I add, unable to stop my smile.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Why the fuck are my friends all sentimental bitches?"

Quinn grins at her. "If you look at it objectively," she says; "I think you'll find that _you're_ the common denominator, Lopez."

"Shut the fuck up, Fabray."

"Just tell us you love us so we can finally get some sleep," Quinn quips, and I've always found their relationship particularly fascinating. They're sometimes like the same person, but really not. They both have walls, and they both love _wholly_ and _fiercely_. They're both stubborn and loyal and giving and -

"All right," Santana finally says. "I kind of, sort of love you, guys."

I can't help my grin.

"See," Quinn says; "was that so hard?"

"The hardest," Santana deadpans.

Brittany just pats the top of Santana's head, and her features immediately soften. The same way I sometimes have to remind myself that Kurt and Blaine aren't together; I also have to with Santana and Brittany. If a person isn't looking close enough, you could barely tell that anything is different.

But it's there.

If you're paying close enough attention, it's there to be seen.

It's in the way Brittany's hand doesn't linger, and it's in the way Santana doesn't reciprocate the touch.

I feel the loss deep in my chest, and I just hope the two of them will be able to work things out. If not today or tomorrow, then one day.

One day soon, preferably.

I look down at Quinn, whose eyes have slipped closed. Her face is relaxed and, while it may look like she doesn't have a worry in the world, I know better. We _all_ know better, and I will accept _anything_ that eases that somewhat.

Anything.

Which, of course, really means that the Universe gives us _more_ with which to deal.

* * *

Of all the things that I expect to come out of the Friday before my senior Prom, it _wasn't_ a phone call from Shelby. Between preparing for and writing Finals, endless rehearsals and getting ready for this weekend's festivities, I've managed to ignore a lot. Quinn and I are taking things one day at a time, because I'm convinced my girlfriend is going to end up passing out if we don't.

And, frankly, I'd much rather _not_ go through that again.

Or, ever, really.

So, when Shelby's name pops up on my phone's screen, I'm not sure what to do with myself. It's just so out of the blue, and my heart rate skyrockets immediately. I glance around my bedroom in search of Quinn, only to remember that she's running an errand with Kurt. They left together straight after Glee and, really, even _if_ either my dads was home right now; I definitely wouldn't go to them with this. I might have my own feelings about Shelby, but they do too.

The two of them harbour their own anger over what happened in my sophomore year, even though I haven't told them the full story. I haven't told _anyone_ the full story, and I feel a flash of... guilt? No. Shame, maybe? I don't know.

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to explain to Quinn that even my biological mother didn't - has _never_ \- want me. Adoption and these kinds of relationships are especially tricky to talk to Quinn about, because of her own experience with Beth. I _know_ Quinn won't begrudge me the opportunity to discuss any of it with her, but I don't want to cause her any extra stress or additional pain.

I don't want to cause _myself_ extra stress.

If I'm being entirely honest with myself, there's a part of me that envies Beth. I can fully acknowledge that my adoption _was_ a closed one, but I just know that Quinn would _leap_ at the opportunity to know Beth if ever the little girl decided it was what she wanted. It baffles me that Shelby wouldn't be the same when I offered it to her, and I suppose that's the difference between someone like Quinn and someone like Shelby.

It has nothing to do with _me_ , and it's taken me _years_ to accept that truth.

I already have enough to deal with, which is the main reason I just continue to stare at my phone until the ringing eventually stops. I suspect the Rachel of old would feel bad for it, but I can't bring up that feeling in this moment. I feel slightly selfish, sure, but also wholly justified. I absently wonder if I would have responded the same way _before_ Quinn, but I can barely remember anything about that time.

It all seems so unimportant. Of course, I know none of it is. Everything that's ever happened to me has made me exactly who I am, but these last few months have allowed me to shed away the attention-seeking, applause-demanding facade that I think I might have used to protect myself from... another Shelby. I didn't really _have_ friends - true ones, at least - before I started to let that all go.

And I have to acknowledge that all started around the same time Quinn showed up on my sidewalk and wormed her way into my heart without my even knowing.

I set down my phone, breathe out slowly, and then smile.

I'm okay.

I'll deal with whatever Shelby wants in my own time, and that's the beauty of what Quinn has given me. Time and love and attention and affection and purpose and _her_. With Quinn, I don't have to worry over Shelby's rejection, Jesse's betrayal or Noah's apparent inability not to stray.

With Quinn, I like to think I don't have to worry at all.

 _Not anymore, at least_ , I think with a chuckle.

I don't know if Quinn can tell that something's different with me when she gets home, because there _is_ a slight quirk of her eyebrows even though she says nothing. She rather just dumps her bag on the floor near my desk, toes off her shoes, and then crawls onto the bed until she's lying beside me. Her arms immediately wrap around my middle and she curls her body around mine.

"Everything okay?" I find myself asking.

Quinn sighs, her nose nuzzling the back of my neck. "I just missed you, is all," she murmurs.

Without even knowing it, this is exactly what I need. I let myself relax in Quinn's embrace, my eyes falling closed. I feel all the tension in my body slowly melt away, and anything and everything to do with Shelby Corcoran completely slips my mind.

 _This_ is what Quinn has given me.

Everything, and so much more.


	55. fifty-five

**Chapter Fifty-Five**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _you not wanting me was_  
 _the beginning of me_  
 _wanting myself.  
_ _thank you._

 _._

"What is _that_?"

I startle at the volume of the voice behind me and drop my towel. Frowning slightly, I bend to pick it up off the carpet, and then glare at Rachel. Why is it that _she's_ the only person who _can_ startle me? Seriously.

"What's what?" I ask, continuing to dry my hands.

Rachel points at my leg, eyes wide. " _That_."

I glance down, and then cringe. "Oh, right," I say. "An accident at practice," I explain.

"Quinn," she breathes. "If _I'm_ not allowed to mark you, why are _you_ allowed to?"

"It was an _accident_ ," I say. "Believe me, I didn't set out to give myself a pretty nasty grass burn the day of our Prom." I shrug. "My dress is long enough to hide it, though the after-party one definitely isn't."

"Does it hurt?"

I shrug. "Only if I bend my knee."

"Want me to kiss it better?"

I chuckle lightly. "I thought _you_ were the one who said we weren't doing anything... frisky today," I point out. "Well, not until tonight, that is."

"Quinn," she says with a sigh. "Why would you take me seriously when I say stupid things like that?"

"I take everything you say _very_ seriously," I inform her. "And, on this, I happen to agree with you. Tonight is a special night and, frankly, I _want_ you to be buzzing with arousal by the time I eventually get my hands - and mouth - on you."

Rachel's eyes darken right in front of me and, for a terrifying moment, I'm convinced she's going to pounce on me, but the sound of her phone ringing startles us both. I frown when she lets out an exasperated sigh. She locates the device and silences the call immediately, and I just _have_ to ask.

"Telemarketer?"

"I wish," she grumbles, tossing her phone onto her bed. "It's Shelby."

Now, _that_ isn't a name I was expecting to hear today, or any day, for that matter. "Okay...?"

"She's called four times, now."

I blink. "And, we're not answering because...?"

Without responding, she moves towards me, coming to a stop right in front of me. "I'm doing this thing, Quinn," she eventually says, placing her palms on my shoulders and stepping into my space. "I'm at a place in my life where peace is a priority." She slowly draws me into a hug, and I let the towel drop from my hands. "That means I'm choosing not to surround myself with people who aren't going to help with that. Shelby is one of those people."

I wrap my arms around the small of her back, gentle in my embrace. "If you want to talk about it, just know I'm here."

"I know," she mumbles into my shirt. "I _know_ , Quinn."

I'm tempted to ask her to explain further, but I don't want Shelby to be this _thing_ hanging over our Prom night. We're supposed to have a glorious, amazing night, and I'm not going to do anything to jeopardise that by asking about Rachel's biological mother. I know better than that.

Instead, I press a kiss to the side of her head, and then pull back to study her features. "Are you ready to go?" I ask. "Santana's probably going to blow up both our phones if she has to wait even _one_ minute for us."

She giggles softly, and then shakes her head as she steps away from me. "I just need to use the bathroom, and then we can go," she says. "I left a protein bar for you on the desk. We're not leaving until you've eaten it."

I groan good-naturedly, but I truly and secretly _love_ that she takes care of me this way. I absolutely adore that she worries about me because, honestly, it can get exhausting having to do it all by yourself.

Before I let her go, I drag her into a quick kiss. Of course, she immediately melts into it, and I'm forced to pull away when she threatens to deepen it.

"You're insatiable," I remark.

"It's your own fault."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, your girlfriend is hot and all that," I mutter. "I'd like to see you use that excuse when we inevitably get caught in a compromising position."

She just kisses my cheek, and then disappears.

I spend a moment just standing there, feeling lighter than I have in a long time, and then I start on my protein bar. Her threat might have been in jest, but I know she means it. We're not leaving until I eat the entire thing, and I have every intention of complying.

I'm just taking my second bite when Rachel's phone starts to ring again, and I act without, well, thinking. I also want _peace_ for Rachel, and she's definitely not going to get it if Shelby keeps calling.

And, if Rachel isn't going to tell her to stop, _I_ am.

I swallow the bite in my mouth, swipe to the right, and bring the phone up to my ear. "Hello."

There's a beat of silence. "Rachel?"

"No, this is Quinn," I inform her.

Another beat. "Quinn?"

I hum. "Blonde cheerleader whose baby you could be raising had you agreed to an open adoption," I clarify.

"Oh."

I sigh. My attitude isn't helping. "Look, Rachel doesn't really want to talk to you today, so you should probably just stop trying to reach her," I tell her. "We have our Prom tonight, and she doesn't want to deal with... you, at the moment. But, when she's ready, I'm sure she'll call you back."

Shelby is silent for a moment. "Prom?"

I groan internally. "Our senior Prom, yes," I tell her. "We're actually starting to get ready, so..."

"Right."

"She'll call you," I say, because I'm _certain_ Rachel will. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but she will eventually. She's just that type of person, giving and caring and... forgiving. I love, admire, envy and worry over those things about her.

"Okay."

"Goodbye."

"Bye."

I'm the one to hang up, and I feel strangely unsettled by the entire thing. I imagine Shelby is calling for a very specific reason - that probably _isn't_ good - and I stand by Rachel's decision not to face any of it today. Today is for us, and for our friends.

"Quinn?"

I startle again. For fuck's sake!

"What are you doing?"

I spin around to face her, and her eyes drop to her phone in my hand. "I, uh, told her to stop calling," I confess; "and that you'd call her back when you're ready." When she just stands there in silence, I continue speaking, bursting into a nervous ramble. "I mean, she was probably just going to keep calling, and that wasn't going to help with your mood, which would affect mine, and I want us to have an amazing day without having to worry about any - "

"Quinn," she interrupts with a small smile. "Baby, it's okay."

I blink. "It is?"

"Thank you," she says sincerely as she walks towards me. "You're right. She would have just kept calling because, apparently, she's unable to take a hint."

"Now I know from where you get it," I tease, slipping an arm around her waist.

"I resent that," she mutters.

I kiss her forehead. "You would have figured out how much I wanted you long before you did, otherwise."

She fakes a laugh, and then pushes against my abdomen. "We should go," she says. "We have a mani/pedi awaiting us."

I grin at her. "Have you decided on a colour?"

"I'm thinking gold," she tells me as she gathers her things. "Have you?"

"Probably nude," I say. "Sylvester will probably throw a fit if I choose anything else, and I intend to keep it on for as long as possible."

"Nude is very sophisticated, Quinn," she says. "Very elegant."

I follow her out of the bedroom in silence, my eyes tracking the movement of her body. I almost chuckle to myself because, seriously - how did I not figure this out sooner? - I am _so_ gay.

For Rachel Berry.

For _life_.

For _this_ life, and this love.

Rachel glances over her shoulder at me. "Do you want to drive?" she asks.

I pause to think about it. I'm getting better at it. Just yesterday, I drove around the block without having a panic attack, but I don't want to risk it today. It could change the landscape of the entire evening if something went wrong, and I won't do that to any of us.

"No," I eventually say. "You should probably drive."

"Okay," she says, extending her hand for me to take, which I do without any hesitation. It still amazes me how perfectly our fingers fit together, and I let out a deep, content sigh. She looks over her shoulder at me again, her eyes asking the silent question.

"I love you," is all I can think to say because, yes, it's all my brain is really thinking.

Her answering smile is breathtaking, and my steps falter at the sight. There's something completely magical about her, and I love this part.

This part where we get to stumble through life together, dealing with everything it throws at us - _eventually_ \- and emerging relatively unscathed.

Together, though.

Always _, together_.

* * *

"Girls, your dates are here!"

At the sound of LeRoy's shout from downstairs, my eyes drift from my reflection in the mirror in front of me to where Santana is slipping on her left heel. She's left them to the last moment because _fuck, if I have to wear them all night, I'm going to waste as much time as possible; have you seen these things_? Mine are a little more modest, because I'm not insane, and Blaine _is_ shorter than I am. I don't want to accentuate that unfortunate fact, even though he claims he doesn't mind.

 _I_ mind enough for both of us.

"Ready to go?" Santana asks, rising to her full height and meeting my gaze. "Because, honestly, you look fine."

I frown. "Just, fine?"

"Just, fine."

I roll my eyes. "Is it even worth it to attempt to get a compliment out of you?"

"Nope."

For a moment, I let my own eyes trail down her body, getting immense satisfaction when she squirms under the intensity of my stare. Santana and I haven't ever truly _talked_ about _my_ sexuality and, frankly, it's unlikely we ever will, but I think she gets surprised by it as much as I do.

Don't get me wrong, I _love_ Rachel, but I'm now _very_ _aware_ of the female form.

I shrug, while thoroughly enjoying her slight discomfort. "You look all right," I say offhandedly, and then grab my purse.

"Just, all right?" she questions with raised eyebrows.

I arch my own eyebrow. "Just, all right," I confirm, and then move towards the door.

Before I open it, I pause with my hand resting on the handle, attempting to ground myself. I'm not particularly _worried_ about tonight, or whatever rumours might start about my... apparent gay affliction. That's not the part that's plaguing my mind. I'm actually really ready for whatever happens next. It's just that... I don't want tonight to be about _that_.

Santana places a hand on my back. "Q?"

"I'm just trying to prepare myself for the sight of her," I confess quietly.

Santana chuckles. "Believe me," she murmurs as she places a hand over mine and pulls open the door; "no preparation will ever be enough."

And, fuck, if that isn't the truth.

Santana and I leave the guest room and walk into the corridor to find Rachel and Brittany already waiting for us and, if I wasn't still holding onto the door handle when I see Rachel, I probably would have fallen over or done something equally tragic like burst into tears. It's pathetic, really, and all I can do is stare, dumbfounded and completely mute at the otherworldly sight before me.

What is this girl trying to do to me?

Because, whatever it is, she's definitely succeeding.

She deserves an award or something.

"Quinn," Rachel whispers, bashful and expectant. "Stop staring at me."

"I can't."

Rachel glances to my left, where Santana is standing. It's just the four of us on the landing, and I can't move. Santana seems frozen in place as well, but I don't need to look to know her eyes are firmly on Brittany, who has her own head cocked to the side, curious and expectant.

I feel as if I've walked into some other dimension.

Rachel shakes her head, thoroughly amused. "You're being weird."

"It's _your_ fault," I say, blinking repeatedly. It takes me a moment, but I manage to kick into gear as a smile blooms across my face. "Baby, you look... amazing." I release the door's handle and step towards her. "Beautiful. Gorgeous. I don't even have the words."

She ducks her head, and I can make out the heavy blush on her powdered cheeks. "Quinn," she says, and it's supposed to be an admonishment, though it comes out as more of a breathy exhale.

The rest of the world has fallen away in this moment, and nothing exists beyond Rachel and myself.

"I am so in love with you," I whisper, stepping into her space and resting my forehead against hers.

I never want this little piece of forever to end, but it does.

"Girls!"

It's LeRoy again, and Rachel flinches at the sound, ripping us both from this little bubble I didn't even know we created until it bursts. "I know you're all lady lovers up there, but there are two handsome men down here who are eager to see you!" Then, after a beat of silence, he adds, "Oh, and Kurt and Blaine are also here."

Santana snorts. "God, I love that man."

"Definitely," Brittany murmurs, holding out her hand for Santana to take.

There's slight hesitation, but the Latina eventually does, and then the two of them start down the stairs, giving me and Rachel a moment. Whether they've done it knowingly or not, I'm still grateful for it, and I slip my own hand into Rachel's, squeezing her fingers tightly.

"Are you ready for this?" I ask simply, but I may as well be asking another, completely different question.

"What am I supposed to be ready for, Quinn?"

"I don't know," I say, and it's the truth. "Everything. Nothing."

"Are you expecting something to change tonight?"

I smile because how can I not? "No," I say. "Don't you know, Berry? Everything's _already_ changed."

* * *

"Are we drinking?" Santana asks. "Please tell me we're drinking."

"I don't know about you, but I'm just relieved we managed to make it out of there at all," Kurt says, frowning slightly. "Rachel, your fathers went _way_ too overboard with the pictures."

"I know," Rachel says, groaning. "I think they were just a little too excited."

"A little?" Blaine teases.

"I think they hit the pre-drinks a little too hard before we even arrived," Kurt says, and Santana bumps her fist against his, as if he's just taken the words straight from her mouth.

I just roll my eyes as I lean back into my seat. I felt a little claustrophobic when we first got into the limousine, but I'm much better now. I can _see_ Rachel, and I can feel Blaine beside me. He's rather warm, and I'm a little surprised by how much comfort I'm actually drawing from his presence.

Rachel thinks that Blaine and I are similar in the way that she and Kurt are. She believes it's all some cosmic parallel... thing that we're all friends and... _were_ couples.

Kismet.

Fate.

 _Something_.

I'm not entirely sold on the idea, if I'm being entirely honest, but I can see why she would believe it. She believes a lot of things, that one, and I find I love her even more for it. I recognise that some of _those_ beliefs are because of Aunt Marianne, and I'm both relieved and grateful that they had something like that to share with each other.

Though, it makes me wonder about the future, and about family.

In all intents and purposes, I have none.

Rachel has only her fathers.

Sure, we have our friends - who may as well be considered family - but it's not the same. We can pretend all we want, but we're never going to get to _know_ each other's families. Our kids are never going to get to know where we come from, and I know it shouldn't bother me as much as it does, but it does.

We're better off, I know, but I can't help it that I wish things were different.

I just want to be able to give our family a family, and I'm coming to realise that we're going to have to build it ourselves.

The limousine goes over a manhole, and I'm jerked out of my thoughts. I meet Rachel's gaze, and her look is asking _are you okay_?, which makes me smile and nod at her.

 _I'm okay_.

Rachel and I decided, as soon as we left the house, that we _wouldn't_ act as if Kurt and Blaine are placeholders.

Because they're not.

Which is why I'm currently sitting next to Blaine, both of us looking at the pictures he managed to have taken with his phone. The quality isn't that great - LeRoy isn't that proficient at this whole taking pictures thing - but I don't think the quality is what matters.

I laugh when a picture of Rachel and Santana pops up, both of them looking thoroughly put out by something or the other. Probably each other.

Blaine grins at me. "Which one of them do you think _caused_ this photo?"

"My bet's on Rachel," I say. "Santana's in too good a mood tonight."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know," I say, because I honestly don't. I think there's a part of Santana that's just realised this is the end of our high school careers, and she's attempting to enjoy it as much as possible. I understand that much, at least. I want to hold onto all these moments as tightly as possible, as well.

Blaine chuckles as he moves on to another picture. It's one of Kurt and Brittany, with the blonde trying to ruffle Kurt's perfectly-coiffed hair and Kurt swatting her hands away. "He spent almost an hour on it," Blaine says, shaking his head in amusement. "I'm sure he would have blown a gasket if Santana wasn't standing _right there_."

I chuckle lightly, watching as he continues to browse the pictures.

We both suck in a sharp breath when we come across one of just him and Kurt, and the pause that follows is heavy with _something_.

I audibly swallow. "I think it's my favourite picture," I say.

"I think it's mine, too," he says.

I wait a moment. "Are you okay?"

He nods. "It's just... a little jarring to see it... and know it's so out of context." He sighs. "I _wanted_ this picture, though."

I look at the screen again, taking in the easiness of their interaction. It's something that hasn't been apparent in the weeks since their breakup, and I find myself smiling. "It really is a lovely picture," I say. "And you get to keep it forever."

"I think that was the point," he says, sighing as he sits back and looks at me. "Don't get me wrong, Quinn, I love that I get to go with you, but..." he trails off.

"You would rather be going with Kurt," I finish for him.

"And you would rather be going with Rachel," he says. "I get it."

"I do, too," I assure him.

"You do?"

"Even though you're not together, you want to be able to look back on this night and see that picture and, maybe, someday, it won't hurt as much to imagine you _did_ go together?" I offer. "It's one of the reasons Rachel and I took all those pictures."

Blaine grins at me. "You know, Rachel has this theory that - "

I raise a hand to shut him up. "Oh, don't you start," I warn playfully. "I'm not even getting into this with you."

He just laughs. "You know she's right. You're _totally_ my spirit animal."

My head falls back as I laugh, and my eyes automatically seek out Rachel, once again.

As if she can feel my gaze on her, she stops speaking mid-sentence and looks at me, a tiny smile playing on her lips. We just stare at each other for another one of those forever moments, and I feel my heart pound in my chest.

It takes Santana wildly waving her hands in the space between us to break our connection, and I chuckle when the Latina curses in Spanish. "Easy on the eye-sex, jeez," she mutters; "I swear you just impregnated me."

* * *

As far as dates go, Blaine Anderson is a lovely one.

Perfect, even.

All the other dances I've attended before were with either Finn or as a group with Santana, Brittany and a few other Cheerios, but Blaine is the best, by far. He's just such a gentleman, attentive in the important ways, _and_ he's a phenomenal dancer.

We've done a lot of that, if I'm being honest. I think it distracts us both from the fact that Rachel and Kurt are dancing together across the dance floor. It also keeps us from acknowledging Finn's puppy-dog eyes that have been trained on us from the moment we entered the gym, and it's stopping me from worrying over the fact that, in less than half an hour, we're going to find out if I truly _can_ win Prom Queen on my own.

I'm not too worried about it.

If I don't win, then Santana will.

Or even Brittany.

The Unholy Trinity is definitely taking it home, and that's all that matters.

"I don't get it," Blaine says at some point in the night.

"Get what?" I ask, downing the remainder of my punch and grimacing. It's obviously spiked, but it tastes like _Rum_. Who spikes punch with Rum? Seriously?

"Why doesn't Finn seem to _get_ it?" he asks, glancing over my shoulder at where Finn is dancing with his date, a fellow cheerleader named Christine French. Blaine shakes his head. "He keeps looking at you," he says. "What did he expect to happen when you showed up? Without him. I just don't get it."

"Boys are stupid," I say with a silly grin, leaning forward to rest my forearms on the table. We're taking a well-deserved break because I need to get rid of the flush in my face from exertion in time for the big announcement.

"They are," Blaine agrees, winking at me.

I can't suppress my giggle, and it passes just in time for Kurt and Rachel to join us at the table. Rachel, quite unceremoniously, drops herself into my lap, and I'm immensely proud of the fact that I don't flinch. My heart rate _does_ rise, but I think that's mainly to do with the fact that _Rachel is in my lap_.

Kurt carefully sits beside me, breathing heavily. "I think I'm out," he says, groaning for good measure. "Dancing is _such_ cardio, and I'm entirely too unfit for this."

Rachel slips an arm behind my neck and pinches Kurt's cheek affectionately. "You should probably work on that," she says, sounding much too happy to be considered completely sober. "NYADA's going to tear you apart, otherwise."

Kurt chuckles.

I glance at him. "Don't be amused," I say. "Even if she _is_ a little tipsy, she's probably already planning out your new workout regimen for the summer."

His face falls immediately, and both Blaine and I laugh.

Rachel looks at me, her gaze intense, and I force myself to maintain my own stare. "Hi," she says.

"Hi," I easily return. "How are you doing there?" I ask. "Comfortable?"

"Very," she assures me. "Thank you."

I blink. "For what?"

"My corsage."

My breath catches, and I shoot an accusatory look at Kurt, who just shrugs. "Did she bribe you?" I ask him.

"She's very convincing, Quinn," he weakly defends. "I barely stood a chance once she caught a sniff. It literally _screams_ Quinn Fabray. It's a _gardenia_. What did you expect?"

I sigh, and return my attention to my gorgeous girlfriend. "You're too smart for your own good," I mutter.

She ignores me. "Thank you," she says again. "I love it, truly. It's so... you."

Before I can reply, Brittany comes bouncing towards the table, dragging a dazed-looking Santana behind her. I don't even want to know what the two of them have been up to, and I absently wonder if essentially _forcing_ them together for this night is going to hurt them more than it'll help them.

"What's up, B?" I ask.

"It's almost time to go on stage," she says. "I want to stand next to you."

I start to stand, but Rachel doesn't budge.

Instead, she hugs me close, discreetly presses a kiss to my exposed neck, and then rises to her feet, stumbling only slightly. She puts out a hand, and I barely hesitate before taking it. It's almost comical the way she passes it to Brittany, and then I'm being dragged towards the stage.

"Good luck!" Rachel calls out, and both Kurt and Blaine echo her.

I don't get the chance to look back, because Brittany tugs on my hand, and we're in position in our lines on stage before I can even register that the music has died down and Principal Figgins has taken up position on centre stage.

The lights adjust, and I look out at our peers, my eyes automatically seeking out Rachel. She's standing near the back with Kurt and Blaine, all of them not having moved too far from our table, and she's practically bouncing on the spot. She's clearly excited, and I don't blame her. It's almost as if she wants this win for me more than even I do.

And, really, with the way she and Kurt threw themselves into my - brief and semi-unwanted - campaign, they would probably be more disappointed if I didn't bring it home than I would.

It might have seemed like the worst idea imaginable, letting them _both_ handle it, but I'm immensely grateful for all the work they put in. Sometimes, Rachel just needs a project, something to sink her teeth into, and Kurt needed the distraction. Rehearsing for Glee Nationals hasn't exactly been... fun, so I wanted to give them something to occupy themselves with while I suffered through exhausting cheerleading practices and made sure I maintained my GPA.

Principal Figgins clears his throat, and I snap to attention. "The votes are in," he starts. "This is the moment you've all been waiting for, where we announce our Senior Prom King and Prom Queen."

Brittany squeezes my hand through the slight cheering from the crowd, and I smile at her.

"Can I get a drumroll please?"

I bite the inside of my cheek, just waiting.

"And, this year's Senior Prom King is..." he removes the name from its envelope, pausing for effect. "Finn Hudson!"

It's not exactly a surprise, and the cheering is decent, I suppose. I applaud because I'm glad he won, even if I sometimes want to... let Rachel punch him in the face.

Principal Figgins waits until the noise has died down and Finn has stopped fiddling with his crown to start speaking again. "And, your 2012 William McKinley Senior Prom Queen is..."

This time, the pause is longer because he fumbles with the envelope and almost drops the card. If I weren't Quinn Fabray, I probably would have chuckled at how the tension in the room just gets amped up because of it. It surprises me just how _over_ all of this I actually am.

"You're going down, Fabray," Santana whispers to me, but she's grinning.

I roll my eyes, and, then, shocking us both, I say, "Well, as far as Rachel is concerned, I probably _am_."

Her sudden, surprised curse in Spanish is, thankfully, drowned out by Principal Figgins' announcement.

"Quinn Fabray!"

My smile is automatic as I step forward to receive my crown and wand from Principal Figgins. I'm fully aware that Finn is staring at me in wonder, but I'm trying not to think about that right now. This is a moment I know I should cherish and enjoy, and I'm going to do my best to do exactly that. It might have lost its importance over the years, but it's still going to be a... relatively fond memory.

"Now, please join me in welcoming your Prom King and Queen to share their dance," Principal Figgins says, and then waves his arms, clearly prompting me and Finn forward.

Finn holds out his arm for me, and I have to take a deep, calming breath before I take it.

I had dreams of this moment.

Ever since I was a little girl and my mother first told me and my sister the story of how she became Prom Queen her senior year, I've envisioned this moment for myself. I wanted to follow in my mother's and then in Frannie's footsteps so badly that I think I lost sight of what it all means.

Which is, well, _nothing_.

Still, I've wanted this moment for so long.

But it's not right.

It doesn't _feel_ right.

It shouldn't be Finn's arm I'm holding.

Still, I let him lead, and then move into position. I keep a safe distance between us that he immediately starts to close. I can just imagine what Rachel's face looks like, right now, because I'm not daring to look in her direction. I imagine this is all bittersweet for her.

 _I_ won, but so did _Finn_ , and now I have to dance with _him_.

Which I do.

Somewhat successfully.

I sense the moment in the song Finn decides it's his last shot at trying to convince me to take him back. He tenses for a beat, his eyes crinkling slightly, and I hold my breath in sudden expectation. I _really_ don't want to do this right now, but I don't see a way out of it without causing a scene.

"We could have had this," Finn says, almost wistfully, and I want to slap him.

"You broke up with me," I point out, because he's making it sound as if it's _my_ fault we're no longer together.

"But I want you back," he counters. "I made a mistake."

"That's nice, Finn," I tell him. "But the world doesn't work that way. You can't just decide that you want me back, and then expect everything to fall into place."

He frowns.

"It doesn't work like that," I repeat. "You can't just decide you want something, and then _get_ it." It's a lesson I think he's going to _have_ to learn because, God, he'll never survive the real world if he has an _entitled_ chip on his shoulder.

And, as much as I would like to cause him physical harm in this exact moment, I don't want him to fail.

If not for him, then for Beth. I don't want her to look at either of us, and see that we haven't become something of ourselves. I want her to be proud of both of us when the time comes. It all has to _mean something_.

"That's it?" he questions as we turn. "That's all you have to say?"

I suck in a breath, and then nod. "There isn't much more _to_ say, Finn. It's been over since the moment you told me I _ruined_ you."

Finn's eyes widen, as if he thinks I would _ever_ forget something like that. Those are the kinds of words one does not simply... forget.

"Did you cheat on me?" I ask, suddenly needing to know.

He can't answer me, and it's all the confirmation I need. I suspected it when he first started with those rumours about how _I_ cheated on _him_ , but to have it spelt out in front of me is unlike anything else. This boy was supposed to _love_ me. He was supposed to -

What does it even matter anymore?

The betrayal was months ago, and he rather hurt me by breaking up with me and spreading rumours instead of hurting me by telling me the truth of his infidelity. It changes nothing because, honestly, it hurt all the same, but I'm in a better place now. I'm free of him, and I'm happy.

Well, I'm desperately trying to be.

Breathing a sigh, I say, "I'm in love with someone else."

His eyes go even wider, and then narrow in disbelief and anger and hurt and I ask myself _why the fuck should I even care_? "Who?" he demands.

I realise I owe him nothing, but I don't want to keep doing this. I just want to spend the evening with my gorgeous girlfriend, and my stunning best friends, without having to worry about this God-awful thing that my relationship with Finn has become.

A part of me recognises that we were probably doomed right from the very start. With or without Beth, he and I were never going to be those High School Sweethearts who go on to take over the world. My younger self would be heartbroken by that, but what does she know?

"Who?" he repeats, and his voice is small. The fire has burned out, and I think this is the first time he truly realises it's well and truly over.

"I think you already know," I say, practically a whisper, and I catch the moment something _clicks_. "Deep in your heart, Finn, you already know."

* * *

Rachel finds me in the bathroom exactly two minutes and nineteen seconds later.

Hyperventilating.

I can't breathe, and I don't know what to do about it. My heart is pounding against my ribcage, going a mile a minute and _I can't fucking breathe_. My nails claw at my dress as if it's suffocating me, and I just can't seem to catch my breath.

It's how Rachel first sees me when she pushes open the door, doubled over and trying to suck in a futile breath. It doesn't even make sense to me. I'm supposed to be ready for this. I _am_ ready for this.

So, why the fuck can't I _breathe_?

Rachel approaches me cautiously, a hand extended to touch my back, but I flinch at the contact, and she immediately retracts it. I catch the flash of hurt on her face, and I feel even worse.

"I'm sorry," I croak. "I'm sorry. I thought - I just - I don't - "

"Quinn," she says. "Just, breathe. It's okay. Just, breathe. In. Out. Slowly. In and out."

Her voice is soothing, and I use the gentleness of her tone to ease my racing heart. My breathing eventually grows steady, but my nerve endings are still on fire, and I feel so _exposed_.

"Do you need your inhaler?" Rachel asks.

I wait a beat. "No," I say. "I think I'm okay."

"Are you?" she asks, watching as I gingerly straighten my spine and suck in a few laboured breathed. "You - you kind of ran out of there pretty quickly. What did Finn say to you? I'll talk to him, you know? Enough is enough, and I don't want you to have to - "

"I told him," I interrupt.

Rachel's mouth snaps shut with an audible clack.

I swallow. "I told him," I say. "And then I had a total fucking panic attack."

Rachel blinks rapidly. "Because he didn't take it well?"

I lick my lips. "I don't actually know," I confess. "I _panicked_ , Rachel." I turn away from her to look at myself in the mirror. At least I'm not crying, even though I still look and feel awful. Like I've been hit by a truck, or something similar. "I thought - I thought I was ready."

Rachel moves to stand beside me, her hand sliding onto my exposed shoulder.

We're both relieved that I allow the contact.

"You panicked," she says.

"I feel so stupid," I mumble, dropping my gaze. "I don't even know why. It's _Finn_. Why do I even care?"

Rachel's hand squeezes my shoulders gently. "He's important to you," she says. "Besides Reverend Jimmy, he's the first person you've actually _told_ who you actually care about their reaction. It's okay that you panicked."

"Is it?" I ask, because I need to hear her say it again.

"It's okay," she repeats.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. "I thought it would be easier."

Rachel's hand slides towards my neck, and she gently massages my muscles. "How do you feel?"

"I don't know," I breathe. Then, after a bit of thought, I add, "Lighter, somehow." I turn to look at her. "I'm... officially done with Finn. If he comes anywhere near me wanting to get back together again, I'm going to have him committed."

Rachel giggles, and then immediately sobers. "Wait. So, you don't know what his reaction was?"

I blink. "No," I say. "Why? Did you see him?"

"Well, I don't know if he was... angry," she says. "Though, he did start to head our way, but I came after you, and Kurt and Blaine kind of stopped him, I guess."

I frown. "Was he coming towards _you_? How? Menacingly?"

Rachel drops her gaze. "No, I think he was just confused. Maybe he wanted confirmation, I don't know."

"Rachel?"

She breathes out slowly. "I don't think I'm ready either," she admits. "I - I _want_ to be, but I'm not. I mean, _you_ had a panic attack, and I'll probably pass out or something." She bites her bottom lip in contemplation. "Can we wait? Just a little longer?"

I immediately pull her into a hug, holding her as close as physically possible. "Okay," I whisper into her hair. "Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"No, _I'm_ sorry," I say. "I know we've been making tentative plans, but I should have discussed it with you before revealing it to Finn."

She squeezes me tightly, and then loosens her grip. "No, I think telling him you're gay is kind of the _only_ way to get him to back off," she attempts to joke.

I kiss her forehead. "I love you, you know?"

"I know."

It takes us a few minutes after that to get cleaned up and calm enough to leave our little sanctuary and, even then, I enclose her wrist with my fingers before either of us can leave. She looks back at me, questions in her eyes.

"Will you dance with me?" I ask, my voice quiet. We can _just about_ make out the sound of the music from the gym, but we've never really needed it before.

Rachel and I have been making our own music for a very long time.

Her smile is surprisingly shy when she steps back into my space. "Of course," she says, her arms already reaching up to snake around my neck.

I had dreams of this moment.

Ever since I even knew being Prom Queen was even a _thing_ , I've envisioned it.

I've wanted this moment for so long.

And, it _finally_ feels right.

 _These_ are the arms I should be in.

* * *

I'm not entirely sure what I expect to walk into when Rachel and I make our way back to the gym.

It's definitely not to find Blaine with a black eye, Kurt looking as unimpressed as ever, Santana practically fuming and Brittany scowling.

Brittany. Scowling.

I repeat.

 _Brittany_.

At the first sight of our haphazard group of friends, Rachel surges forward, bending to inspect Blaine's face. "Oh, my God," she squeaks. "What on earth happened?"

Santana rolls her eyes, scoffs and then levels me with a look that's both incredulous and accusatory. "What the fuck, Q?" she questions, whispering harshly, because she obviously doesn't want people to hear her. "You can't even _come out_ the right way."

I frown. "What?"

"Finn is certifiably an idiot," Kurt mutters, mostly to himself, and then runs a soothing hand along the back of Blaine's neck. "An honest to Patti _idiot_. I don't even know what I ever saw in him, honestly. I don't even know what I was thinking."

I'm so confused. "What?"

Blaine grins at me then, and I don't even know what's happening. "I suppose it's just more feasible for _me_ to be suddenly straight than for _you_ to be suddenly gay. Apparently, it's the only explanation for Kurt's and my breakup."

It takes me a moment.

Rachel gasps first, her hands coming up to cover her mouth.

"Oh, my God," I say, horrified. "He thought I meant _you_?"

Blaine looks way too amused about all of this. "Apparently, you and I are shacking up, now."

Brittany steps towards me. "Q, I think we have to have _you_ checked out for dating him as long as you did," she says, entirely too seriously. "I'm not even graduating, and even _I'm_ not that stupid."

And, really, for the life of me, there is _nothing_ I can do to stop my laughter.

It's probably the wrong reaction or something, but I can't help it. I'm definitely going to have to talk to Finn about all of this again. _He's_ clearly in denial about it all, and he's seeing what he wants to see out of a series of scenarios that he deems _more_ likely than Rachel and I being so deliriously in love.

It takes them all a while to join in my laughter but, once we get going, there's no stopping us.

It's probably the best worst Prom of my entire life.


	56. fifty-six

**Chapter Fifty-Six**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _stay is a sensitive word.  
_ _we wear who stayed  
_ _and who left  
_ _in our skin forever._

 _._

"We really should have better control than this."

Quinn's words register somewhere in my inebriated brain, but I'm not thinking about that. Her hands are doing things, and all I want is to get her up the stairs to my bedroom before we get caught by my dads doing _it_ on the stairs.

It's going to happen, though, and I have to force Quinn to keep moving.

"Upstairs, baby," I instruct, already breathless with _need_.

Quinn shoots me a totally drunk, pouty look, and I have to close my eyes to stop myself from dragging her to the floor and devouring her right here, right now. I don't think either of us will appreciate the carpet burn.

"Go," I tell her.

Quinn grins at me, and then stumbles her way up the stairs. She trips once, but she makes it safely to my door, pushing it open immediately and dragging me in behind her. It's funny that she thinks _she's_ the one in control here, because she's definitely not.

The door clicks shut before Quinn can reach for the light switch, and I shove - as gently as I can - her against the door so she's facing it, my hands on her hips to keep her in place.

Quinn sucks in a breath. "Rach - "

"Shh," I whisper right in her ear, before nipping at her lobe and dragging my nails along her delectable sides. I pause over her ribs, just _feeling_ the beauty of my girlfriend. There's no comparison, in my eyes. She is literally the most stunning human being I have ever come across, and I'm not looking to meet anyone else.

My fingers find their way to the zipper of her dress.

If one can even call it a _dress_.

It's like a second skin, really, and I've been dying to get her out of it ever since she pulled it on when we all changed in the limousine on our way to Noah's house for the after party. I've been buzzing with ill-concealed arousal ever since, and my hands are itching to undress and _touch_.

I press my lips against her back, following the zipper as it exposes more and more skin to my eyes and my mouth. I can't help my smile when Quinn lets out a soft moan, and I tug the dress down, practically _peeling_ it off her. I can't help my breathy chuckle at the black lace panties I find barely covering her gorgeous, toned ass.

"Well, well," I murmur; "someone clearly thought they were getting lucky tonight."

Quinn chuckles lowly. "A girl can only hope," she husks, turning around and facing me. She's wearing a content smile, and her eyes are slightly unfocused as she attempts to kick off her heels.

My eyes automatically travel down from her dark eyes to her lace-encased breasts, lingering, before they drop even further to her toned abdomen. As much as I find cheerleading so ridiculously dangerous, I can't say I actually _hate_ it. If it makes my girlfriend look like _this_ , how can I?

"See something you like?" Quinn asks, arching an eyebrow.

"You are so beautiful," I whisper, stepping into her space and reaching out to touch, once more. I rise up to press my lips to hers, sighing against her mouth as my breathing slows. I've never felt anything like this before, and I can't imagine loving anyone else this way.

Maybe, our children.

I'm distracted from that heavy thought when Quinn's slightly-shaking hands reach for the zipper of my dress and pulls down slowly. I can feel the cool air hit my back from the open window, and I steal another kiss as my dress hits the floor in a pool of silk. Quinn's eyes darken as she takes in every inch of me, licking her lips and sending heat to pool between my legs.

Quinn's hand slips around my neck and she pulls me into her, our lips meeting in a heated, sloppy kiss. My hands slide down her back, my palms cupping her ass as I press closer, heavy moans filling the air.

"Bed," she murmurs, and we start to move.

Well, we stumble, really, and I feel Quinn's hand move to rid me of my bra, which is proving to be a difficult task in her inebriated state.

"How do people do this?" Quinn asks, her hands fumbling with the clasp behind my back.

"Do what?" I ask, grinding my hips against her.

"Have sex while they're drunk," she mutters, still working at my clasp. "Like, how are they _able_ to do it, because, honestly, if I wasn't already familiar with what you like, I doubt the sex would be any good." She practically growls in frustration. "I mean, I can barely get this damn thing off when I'm sober."

Which isn't true.

She's an expert.

Still, I can't help my laugh as I reach behind me and help with the clasp. It takes us a moment, but we eventually get it undone, and then I remove the garment completely. It's barely hit the floor before Quinn's mouth is on my left breast, tongue swirling around my nipple.

"Oh, yes," I moan, my fingers automatically sliding into her hair and drawing her closer, begging for more.

Quinn pulls back quite suddenly. "Though, I imagine being inebriated must help with the sensation."

I groan. "Are you _sure_ you're drunk?" I ask, urging her to continue using her mouth for things other than talking. "I don't remember you ever being this talkative."

Quinn just grins before finding my lips again. We kiss languidly for a few moments before my hand lifts to the middle of her chest, and I push lightly until she's lying back on her elbows on the bed.

For the longest moment, I just stand there and take her in.

Her gorgeous body.

Her dark, dark eyes.

Her wonderful, kissable lips, that have curled into a dangerous smirk.

"Come here," she says.

"Scoot up," I return, as I move to climb onto the bed.

We work together to rid her of her undergarments, her removing her bra while I drag her panties down her long, inviting legs. My hands linger on her calves, and then on the tops of her thighs as I work my way back up her body. I want to see her face, and I want to kiss her skin and I want to remember this night for all the good reasons.

Quinn's fingers slide into my hair, and she pulls me in for a heated kiss. "Hey," she murmurs.

"I _really_ didn't know you were this talkative when you're drunk."

She just laughs. "I just wanted to tell you that I love feeling you like this," she says. "Naked, and on top of me."

"But, I'm not naked," I point out.

Quinn's dark eyes trail the length of my body, and then she hums thoughtfully. "It seems you're not," she says.

"You should definitely do something about that."

"I definitely should."

And, well, she _does_.

Quinn immediately slips her hand into my panties, her fingers finding my clit instinctively. Drunk or not, she knows exactly what she's doing.

"Oh, Quinn," I gasp, arching into her.

Quinn's other hand goes to remove the lace, but she ends up having to use both hands, and I whimper at the loss of contact. She just smiles a little too smugly as I'm finally rid of all clothing. She slips a firm thigh between my legs, pressing against me, and my hips jerk involuntarily.

"That's it," she says, her hands settling on my waist and urging me to move. "I can't get over how wet you are."

I grind against her as my fingers trace around her nipples, along her sides and over her quivering stomach. My hips fall into a steady rhythm as my right hand sneaks downwards, slipping between her legs and finding her, ready and waiting.

"Oh, fuck me," Quinn rasps.

I chuckle against her skin. "Believe me, I intend to."

* * *

I wait until Quinn is at church on Sunday evening to place my call to Shelby. It's been an eventful weekend already, and I just know that whatever Shelby has to say to me is probably going to add to it. Nothing ever can run smoothly in our lives and, really, there isn't all that much I would want to change.

Not in this moment, no.

Quinn and I are headed for graduation, and we're together and relatively happy. She's healthy, physically, and working to get there mentally. We have friends who are good and true, and we have a support system that proves day in and day out that they're trustworthy and kind. We have a roof over our heads, food on the table and love in abundance.

Sure, there are still many things we have to work through, but we're in the best place we can possibly be, given everything we've already gone through.

And, now, there's Shelby.

I realise I'm going to have to tell Quinn the full story about my brief interaction with my biological mother. I haven't seen her since our Regionals competition our sophomore year and, while it was a bitter pill to swallow at the time, I haven't really given much thought to her.

A lot has happened since then.

I have two wonderful dads, and they're all I've ever needed. I also had Aunt Marianne, and she was more of a mother to me than Shelby could have ever dreamed, which is apparently something she never truly did.

Or, if she did, she didn't do it properly, because she seemed all too surprised by what it meant to have a daughter.

For so long, I wondered about my _other_ family. I imagined uncles and aunts and grandparents and cousins a plenty, but that all seems so unimportant now. After meeting with James Holt, I realise that all that other family that... probably don't even know I exist will never hold a candle to what and who I currently have in my life.

Still. I'm nothing if not polite, and I doubt I can get away with ignoring Shelby completely. We don't talk that often, but we _do_ talk. Mainly by email, once every few months, when she remembers she has offspring out there in the world.

I sigh. I'm not helping my mood with these thoughts, and I glance over at where Quinn has left her books spread out on the carpet for when she gets back. Finals have been making her tense. Everyone expects her to be Valedictorian, and she's placing all this extra pressure on herself that she doesn't even need to.

I'll still love her if she's not the sharpest tool in the shed.

She didn't appreciate that sentiment when I mentioned it to her, but I was able to distract her enough with a flurry of kisses. I wish she was here right now. She would know how to handle this Shelby situation, but even she can tell this is something I'm going to have to tackle alone. There's very little Quinn can do, anyway, other than just _being here_.

And, really, I would much rather have this conversation with Shelby in private, and then divulge it to Quinn when I have a firmer grip on what the woman wants. Because, it's obvious she wants something from me, and I'm trying not to feel too... annoyed by it. Irritated. _Something_.

With another sigh, I dial Shelby's number and wait.

She answers on the fourth ring. "Hello."

It's a surprise to hear her voice, because I almost forgot what it sounds like. "Hi, Shelby," I say.

"Rachel," she breathes. "I'm so glad to hear from you. How are you?"

I wait a beat, wondering if she's _actually_ Shelby Corcoran. "Um, I'm good," I say. "How are you?"

"Fine, dear," she says. "I hear it was your Prom last night?"

"It was," I confirm.

"How was it?"

"Surprising," I admit. "But, overall, it was a good evening. I enjoyed myself, for the most part."

"Who was your date?"

I'm tempted - so, so tempted - to tell her my date was Quinn, but I clamp down on that urge. I'm not about to out us just to get a reaction out of the woman. I learned my lesson with James and, after last night's hysterics when it comes to Finn; Quinn and I are decidedly _not_ ready for the shitstorm the revelation has the potential of brewing.

I clear my throat. "A boy named Kurt," I answer.

"Kurt," Shelby muses; "can't say I recall the name. Is he in Glee?"

"He is."

Shelby _must_ sense that I'm not being particularly forthcoming, because she sighs. "Look, Rachel - " she starts.

"Is there a reason you've been trying to reach me?" I ask, interrupting. This isn't some kind of catchup session, and I don't have all that much time before Quinn gets back. She surprised us all by stating that she was going to drive to and from church herself, but my Daddy is ready with his wallet and keys if she calls in a panic.

As yet, she made it to church unscathed, and I'm planning on showing her just how proud I am when she gets back.

Shelby audibly sighs again. "Well, Rachel, I was kind of hoping we could meet," she says.

"Meet?"

"I'm in Lima."

"Oh?"

"And, I wanted to see you."

"Why?"

"There's something I need to discuss with you," Shelby says, and it sounds as if she's forcing herself to remain calm through her obvious annoyance. I almost feel as if I'm channelling Quinn by being so difficult, and it brings a small smile to my face.

"And this can't be discussed over the phone?" I ask.

"I'm afraid not."

I take a deep breath. My imagination is threatening to run off with every possible thing she could want to speak to me about. God, is she dying or something? It sounds serious enough, whatever it is, and I have this niggling feeling that she _might_ know about Quinn. It's paranoia, I know, but I realise in this moment that I haven't told her about my forever relationship and sexuality for a very specific reason.

Whatever that reason is, though; I'm still not sure.

I'm not worried she won't approve. She gave her daughter to gay men, for crying out loud. I think I'm more concerned about what she'll think about what my 'lifestyle' would mean for my proposed career. I think Broadway is probably one of the safer places for homosexuality, and definitely more accepting. Singing and dancing; it's kind of a given. The thought brings a smile to my face, which spreads into a full-blown grin when Quinn swings open the door and does a dramatic drop and roll across the carpet.

I let out an unexpected laugh, and Shelby sounds in my ear.

"Rachel?"

I shake my head at my girlfriend's antics. "I'm sorry, Shelby," I say, even though I'm not really. "Quinn's just being an idiot."

"Quinn?"

"I think you spoke to her yesterday."

"Right."

An odd feeling prickles at the back of my neck, but it disappears when Quinn crawls across the carpet to kneel in front of me. She places her hands on my knees, and then slides them up my thighs, succeeding in distracting me.

"Rachel?"

I swallow to regain some brain capacity. "I'm in the middle of writing Finals," I explain, shooting a stern look at Quinn when her fingers trail along the waistband of my shorts. "We're also preparing for Nationals. How - how long are you going to be in town?"

"Just a few days," Shelby answers.

I have to still Quinn's exploring fingers with my free hand. "Um, I can probably do Tuesday," I say. "In the late afternoon. We can meet at the Lima Bean after I get out of my dance class. Is, um, six-thirty all right?"

"That's perfect."

"Okay," I say. "See you then."

"See you then."

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Rachel."

I'm entirely too aware of the frown on my face when the call eventually ends, and Quinn's eyes are both questioning and concerned. Her hands are over mine now, gently squeezing in reassurance and comfort. It amazes me, really, that just a few months ago, she wasn't all that good at physical contact. While she sought it, she wasn't comfortable giving this kind of affection.

Look at us now.

 _Shelby, look at me now_.

"I love you," I say, because there will never be a day when I stop.

Quinn's head tilts to the side, as if she's seeing right through my declaration. "I love you, too," she says anyway. Then, with all the care in the world, she asks, "What do you need?"

I smile at her. "Distract me."

Quinn's answering smile in wolfish, and I'm wholly unprepared when she tugs on my hands hard enough to send us both tumbling into a heap on the floor, her mouth immediately seeking mine.

She's a _mistress_ of distraction.

* * *

"Hey, Rach?"

"Hmm?"

Quinn waits until I look up from the US History notes in front of me, and she smiles gently. "I've been thinking."

There's something heavy in her tone of voice, and it forces me to pay attention and _not_ make a joke. I shift to face her properly, abandoning my notes in favour of giving my girlfriend my undivided attention. "What is it, baby?"

Quinn bites her bottom lip, clearly contemplating if mentioning her thoughts is a good idea.

"It's okay," I tell her. "Whatever it is."

"It's nothing bad," she assures me. "It's just, well, it's probably stupid."

"I'm sure it's not."

Quinn lets out a breathy laugh, short enough to relieve some of the tension in her posture. "I don't know what it is about what's been going on in our lives, but I find that I've been thinking about our children a lot." She pauses. "Our future children, that we'll have in the distant, distant future, when you're all famous and we're married and all that."

Okay.

Of all the things I was expecting Quinn to say, that definitely isn't it.

Particularly not after the _amazing_ carpet burn she gave me not even forty minutes ago.

I still don't think it's fair that she gets to mark me, when I don't get to leave any of my own on her.

Quinn drops her gaze, visibly biting the inside of her cheek now. "Also, I've been thinking about how we can't really give them a _family_." She sighs. "Well, not in the traditional sense, that is."

"Okay..."

"Does it bother you?"

"What?"

"That all you're getting out of this relationship is, well, _me_?"

I'm not sure where this is all coming from and, while I'm tempted to ask, I don't think now is the time. She's trying to tell me something without actually saying the words, and I realise I'm going to have to figure it out for myself.

Sometimes, it's hard work being Quinn Fabray's girlfriend.

"But _you're_ not all I get," I point out, and her answering frown is cute enough to elicit a small, involuntary, squeal from my lips. "I get you, and I get Santana and Brittany." I smile sadly. "I like to think I also get Beth, by extension... if that's okay with you, of course."

Quinn's eyes glow glassy, and I can tell she's five seconds away from crying, which was _not_ my intention.

So, with all the attitude I can muster, I say, " _And_ I get access to all your many, many millions."

The sound of her answering laugh is _so_ worth it.

I take a deep breath. "I didn't know it bothered you this much," I admit; "because it doesn't matter to me. Not anymore." I rise from my desk chair and cross the room to settle myself beside Quinn on the floor, gently taking hold of one of her hands. "I used to wonder about it a lot, but meeting James has shifted things into perspective. I don't _want_ family that won't accept me, and I know you don't want that either."

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"What on earth are you sorry for?"

"That I can't give you more."

"Quinn, I sincerely hope you're not apologising for your horrible, intolerable family," I say, my tone firm. "If I don't want them in your life if they can't accept you for exactly who you are, then how could I ever want them in the lives of our children?" I suck in a breath. "Children that don't even yet exist, Quinn."

"I told you it was stupid to be worrying about this."

"It's not," I assure her. "Just, maybe a tad premature." I run my thumb along the top of her hand. "What's this all about, baby? Is it because of Shelby's reappearance?"

She seems to give that a bit of thought. "Would - would you let her back into your life if she asked for it?" she asks.

For some reason, I get the feeling this all relates to Beth in some way, but I'm not sure it's wise to read into it too much. Maybe she's asking about Judy, in her own way, for all I know. "I don't know," I finally say, and the admission feels heavy. "I haven't really talked about the entire situation with anyone other than my therapist."

Quinn just nods, silently prompting me to continue.

"I never really gave much thought to my biological mother before," I start, my attention on our linked hands. "For a lot of the things I might have needed her for, I had Aunt Marianne. But, I mean, of course I was still curious and, when I was old enough, my dads explained how I came to be. She was unnamed back then; just a young woman who agreed to be a surrogate to two gay men in Ohio in exchange for the money to take her to New York to realise her dreams." I swallow past my suddenly dry mouth. "I get that, you know, wanting to do anything and everything in search of your dreams," I say.

"Sunshine," Quinn says, disguising it as a cough, and I pinch the back of her hand. "Ow."

I kiss her cheek, and then sigh. "I _do_ get it," I say; "It's just that it's kind of extreme in a way. I mean, I'm grateful, of course, but dedicating nine months of your life and giving away your child seems a little excessive, but that might just be my own feelings on that. I don't think I could do that. Could you?"

"Haven't I already?" Quinn asks, and her voice is barely there.

"No, Quinn," I assure her, my right hand sliding into her growing hair. "It's different."

"Because Beth wasn't planned?"

"Partly, yes, but you gave her up for adoption to give her the best chance she could get."

Quinn clenches her jaw. "I can convince myself of that day in and day out, Rachel, but it was a selfish act," she says. "I thought about myself."

"And you're entitled to that, Quinn," I say, wondering how we've even got to this topic of conversation. "You were fifteen, and then sixteen, and facing the scariest thing to happen to you. Of course, you were thinking about yourself... until you just weren't anymore when you starting thinking about Beth, and I think that's what makes you different to Shelby."

She frowns, clearly not following.

"Mine was a closed adoption, as you know," I explain. "She wasn't supposed to have any contact with me until I was at least eighteen, but she figured out who I was through the show choir circuit, and she enlisted Jesse to help me figure it out." I turn Quinn's hand over and begin to draw shapes on her smooth palm. "It was amazing and unbelievable, and the drama queen in me took it all in stride. I wanted to jump in with both feet, believing that she wanted me to know who she was because she wanted to _know_ me. It was this fantastical thing, my mother coming out of the woodworks just when I needed her. It was going to be an entire chapter in my memoir.

"I don't know if it's because I was younger than I am now, or if I was just being terribly naive, or if I was just so desperate for attention that I gave her parts of myself too quickly, or something. I was... excited, and everything was new, and there was Jesse, and I had to defend our relationship endlessly, and Shelby seemed _interested_ until she just wasn't anymore." I lick my lips, unable to look at Quinn's face. "Maybe I came on too strong; maybe I just wasn't what she envisioned, but she seemed to change her mind about being in my life. She told me that she thought I might have needed a mother, but I clearly didn't. She told me that I was obviously my own person, happy and well-adjusted, and I started to wonder if she'd been paying attention to _anything_ I'd been telling her at all.

"It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I eventually had to. She wanted to... see from afar, and I had no choice to accept it, right? It was still an out-of-this-world thing even to meet her, and I hung onto that as I reconciled what I knew of her with what I imagined her to be. I think we both made that mistake, and we both ended up disappointed."

"No," Quinn suddenly interjects. "Don't do that. Don't think it's in any way your fault."

"Quinn," I say through a sigh. "She wanted to know me, she met me, and then decided she didn't want to know me after all. Who's _fault_ is that?"

"Hers."

The conviction in her tone is startling. "Quinn?"

"It isn't even a question," Quinn continues. "There are so many things wrong with what happened. I mean, first, she broke the contract and, however she attempts to spin it, it was still wrong. It was put in place for a reason your parents all decided on before you were born, and she had no right to go against it."

"My dads were livid," I tell her. "Shelby said that she couldn't not know me once she knew who I was."

Quinn makes a sound that oddly resembles a growl. "I think I can understand that," she reluctantly admits. "If it were Beth, I would probably do the same thing."

"And that's where the similarities end."

Quinn's smile is sad. "I'm sorry she hurt you," she says.

"I'm not - "

"Rachel," she interrupts all too knowingly. "Baby, it's okay. She _hurt_ you, and she didn't even realise how much."

I lean my head on her shoulder. "I kept wondering what it was I did so wrong. I realise I've spent a lot of my life wondering what I do that makes people treat me like crap."

Quinn tenses, and I realise I've touched a topic that we've never truly been able to bury completely. "I'm sorry," she whispers, and I just don't have the energy to assure either one of us that it's okay because, maybe, it really isn't.

It's a thing that's happened to us.

Once upon a time, Quinn was my tormentor, and now she's the love of my life.

Now, _that_ is an entire chapter in my memoir. Perhaps even two.

"It was never about you," Quinn says softly. "It's never been about _you_ , and I think that's the part that makes everything we've - _I've_ \- ever done that much worse. It's not an excuse; there will _never_ be an excuse good enough for the way I treated you, but you have to understand that my treatment of you was an indication of _me_ and not you." She sighs. "Which is why I can certainly say that the same can be said for Shelby."

I close my eyes when I feel Quinn's lips on the top of my head.

"Maybe she thought she was ready for you, but she actually wasn't, and she went about it all the wrong way," Quinn offers. "Maybe she did build up this image of you in her head, and she couldn't handle that you didn't turn out that way. Maybe she's just a heartless bitch who came into your life with the intention of leaving it. I don't know."

I let out a breathy laugh. "I don't think it's that last one."

"If you say so."

I turn my head slightly, nuzzling her shoulder. "What do you think she wants?"

"If she were sane, she would be here to grovel at your feet, ask for forgiveness and beg you to let her back into your life," Quinn says, ever so seriously. "I know I would. I can't even begin to fathom what my life would be like if you weren't in it."

"I think you'd be fine."

"Maybe," she concedes; "but I wouldn't be as fine as I am when I'm with you, and that's the difference."

I kiss her shoulder, unsure what to say.

"I don't know what was going through Shelby's mind," she says; "but she's here now, and I think you'll wonder about it endlessly if you don't go into it with an open mind. Your heart is so pure and kind. I know she hurt you, and you have every right to be wary and careful, but I also know there's always going to be a part of you that... _wants_. Believe me, I've had my own experience with my mother, and I can't shake the feeling that I would probably still hear her out if she showed up on our doorstep tomorrow."

I bristle slightly at the sound of that, and Quinn must hear or feel it, because she chuckles softly.

"I know," she says, sighing. "It's pathetic."

"No, Quinn."

"It is a little bit," she counters. "I think that mothers and daughters have some of the most complicated relationships."

"When if comes to you and me, definitely."

Quinn hums thoughtfully. "This whole thing has been making me think about Beth a lot," she says. "I - I opted for an open adoption because I didn't want her ever to think she was unwanted or unloved. I like to imagine that, if I were able to age myself up, I would be raising her, but that wasn't in the cards for me, and I have to remind myself of that every day. We can't know what it was really like for Shelby, and I won't pretend to understand _that_ , but I've always wanted Beth to have the opportunity to know me, if she so desired."

"Can you ever see yourself being disappointed in her?"

"Not enough not to want to know her," she confesses, and I appreciate the truth of it. "She's my daughter, Rachel. Regardless of our... situation; I gave birth to her and, despite what the contracts say, that's _always_ going to be a thing that binds us. It's a terrifying situation for all of us, but we're going to make it work because we all want it to."

"And, Shelby didn't." It's a statement of fact, but I don't think it's helped me at all.

Quinn wraps an arm around me. "Whatever happens, you have to do what _you_ have to, okay? You're the most important person in this entire situation, so you have to make sure you protect yourself first, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm right here, and I love you," she says. "Your fathers love you, and our gay brigade loves you too."

"Gay brigade?"

She laughs. "Tell me it's not the best way to describe them," she says. "I dare you to try."

And, really, I can't.

* * *

My eyebrows aren't the only ones to rise up when Quinn raises her hand to address Mr Schuester the next day in Glee. She doesn't normally say much of anything when we're all in a group, and she didn't mention anything to me. It's doubtful she's about to sing a song right now, and I feel myself tense at the possibility of what she's going to say.

"Mr Schue?"

"Yes, Quinn?"

"I've been thinking," she starts; "and I've come to the conclusion that it's probably a good idea for you all to work out and rehearse the first set without me, Santana and Brittany."

There's a cacophony of sound that follows that statement, everyone throwing in our sounds of questions and protests, but Quinn just raises a hand, and everyone shuts up. It's really a super power.

Quinn rises to her feet and moves to stand in front of us. "Believe me, this is the last thing I want to suggest, but I think it's the smartest thing we can do," she says, and she sounds both serious and diplomatic. I can't help thinking she's probably, definitely, going to end up ruling the world, one day. "There are no guarantees the three of us are going to make it to Chicago on time," she says. "We have to prepare for that possibility."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asks, frowning.

"Our cheerleading Nationals have been shifted by two days," Quinn explains. "If we place, and possibly win, the earliest we can leave Malibu is late Thursday night or even early Friday morning, and we don't even know if we're performing the first set on Friday or Saturday yet. I just don't want to leave anything to chance if something goes wrong, and we don't make it in time to perform in our allotted slot."

For the first time since Quinn brought up the possibility of not getting to Chicago in time, I feel helplessness creep in. Quinn looks determined, though, and that's enough to keep those darker feelings at bay. She's just being cautious; making sure that we cover our bases.

Just in case.

"I think it's a good idea," Finn says, and I turn to glare at him at the same time that Santana, Brittany Kurt _and_ Blaine all do. He visibly shrinks in his seat. "I'm just saying," he mumbles, but Quinn isn't paying him any attention.

At some point in the last few months, we stopped looking to Finn as our co-Captain. He doesn't project the same leadership qualities that Quinn obviously does. It practically oozes out of her, demanding to be noticed and acknowledged.

Quinn looks at Mr Schuester, one eyebrow arched expectantly.

Mr Schuester clears his throat, shrinking slightly under the intensity of her stare. "It'll probably require a few extra rehearsals," he says; "but it's probably the best option. We can fit the practices in while you three are with the Cheerios, I think." He runs a hand over his hair. "We'll also have those days when you're already gone to work on it, but it's only precaution. We're still going to rehearse with the belief that you'll make it in time."

Quinn's smile is sad, as if she already knows they won't, and it's a little heartbreaking.

I try to catch her gaze, but she studiously ignores it as she returns to her seat while Mr Schuester works out a new schedule for all of us. Most of the other members of Glee don't have other extracurriculars, but it's easy enough to work around the ones who do. With the Cheerios leaving for Malibu early Saturday morning, we have less than a week to get everything perfect _with_ them.

And, from the looks of things, we're actually getting there.

Now that the songs and routines are all mostly finalised, it's just going over them over and over that's required. Mr Schuester makes a few minor changes as we go along, because he's the one who gets to see the entire thing as a whole. Some dance moves have to be changed, and he makes sure that the complicated dance sequences are properly highlighted. I didn't even know there would be a day that Mr Schuester would let any one of us do forward and backward tumbles on stage but, alas, we have highly capable cheerleaders, and Mike.

Quinn is a visionary.

And, she blushes the moment I tell her once we've been dismissed and we're on our way back to the choir room from the auditorium.

"Rachel," she says with a shake of her head as her shoulder bumps mine.

"I mean it, Quinn," I tell her. "I know that Student Class President is supposedly some token position, usually based on popularity, but I honestly think they chose the best possible person for the job. You're good at this kind of thing: identifying what needs to be done, and then making sure it does. It's not an easy feat, and I actually think you enjoy it."

"If I didn't know better, I would think you were calling me bossy," she jokes, trying to ease the severity of this moment. For a girl who can hand out a spellbinding compliment, she's not very good at accepting them.

"You enjoy it," I gently accuse. "Admit it."

"I think it's something we have in common," she says. "You like telling people what to do; I like telling people what to do... honestly, how has our relationship lasted this long?"

"Because you love me," I remind her as we reach the choir room. I can't hold back my smile when she holds the door open for me and, once we're safely inside, I pull her into a much-deserved kiss.

"What was that for?" she asks when I pull away and head towards the piano to pack up my sheet music.

"Can't I just kiss my girlfriend?" I throw over my shoulder.

"Rachel, we both know you can do anything you want to your girlfriend."

I turn to face her. "Anything, huh?"

Her gaze is steady and assured when it meets mine. "Anything," she confirms.

"I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

"Quinn, baby, I have to go."

Almost predictably, Quinn's arms tighten around my waist, holding me in place as her teeth nip at the skin of my neck. "You still have fifteen minutes," she murmurs.

I glance at my phone over her shoulder for the time, an involuntary moan slipping past my lips. "I don't want to be late," I say, trying to escape Quinn's embrace. "What are you even doing home?"

"Sylvester let us out early," she says, and I practically baulk at that sentence. "I know," she continues, her fingers slipping under my top to touch my skin; "I was surprised, too."

"Did hell freeze over or something?"

"I think so," she says. "We got through the routines perfectly and without incident. I think she was so shocked by it, that her brain malfunctioned enough to give us the rest of the afternoon off."

"And now you've made it your mission to make me late meeting Shelby," I grumble, even though I've stopped trying to get out of Quinn's hold. "I have thirteen minutes, now."

"I'm pretty sure I've got you off in less time."

"That's not the point," I force myself to say, even though the mental image blows up in my mind. "I don't want to be hot and bothered after sex with my girlfriend when I go and meet the woman who gave birth to me."

Quinn just kisses my neck again, humming to herself.

I let it go on for exactly nineteen more seconds, before I push her away. "Don't you have something you're supposed to be doing?"

She lets out an annoyed breath. "Believe me, going over to Finn's, so Kurt and I can explain that I'm _not_ in love with _Blaine_ is literally the last thing I want to be doing."

I can't stop my laugh.

"Sure. Laugh it up." She releases me, and steps back, a look of irritation on her face.

"I'm sorry," I say; "but it is kind of your own fault."

"Wow, Rach, ease up on the sympathy there."

I press my lips to hers placatingly. "I love you."

She holds onto her scowl for another few seconds, before she smiles. "I love you, too."

* * *

I wouldn't be Rachel Berry if I didn't attempt to come up with every possible reason Shelby might have for wanting to meet with me. I've gone over them countless times, but absolutely nothing prepares me for what I find when I step into the Lima Bean, my focus on Quinn's texts on my phone.

 _Quinn: I don't know what it says about me that I'm more concerned about you NOT forgetting the Latte you bribed me with to let you go than how your meeting with Shelby goes..._

 _Quinn: I'm kidding._

 _Quinn: I'm thinking about you, and I love you. X_

I can't hold back my grin as I quickly reply.

 **Berry: I honestly have no idea what I'm supposed to do with you when you get like this.**

 _Quinn: LOVE ME!_

 **Berry: It's honestly the simplest thing I've ever done.**

My head is shaking in amusement as I finally lift my gaze and scan the room for Shelby.

But, the second I spot her, my smile slips from my face, giving way to confusion and apprehension.

I have the sudden, irrepressible urge to turn and run.

It would be so easy.

I could just go on with my life without having to deal with any of... this.

I'm tempted.

So, so tempted.

But then Shelby looks up and spots me, immediately waving me over.

I hesitate, feeling my phone buzz in my hand. I know it's Quinn without having to look, because I suddenly can't take my eyes off Shelby... or the child sitting in her lap.


	57. fifty-seven

**Chapter Fifty-Seven**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _it is being honest about my pain that makes me invincible._

 _._

"So, you're really not in love with Blaine?"

Kurt scoffs from his position beside me as we sit on the edge of Finn's bed. I barely resist my own eye-roll as I stare at Finn slowly twist in his desk chair, his eyes darting between me and Kurt as if we hold all the answers to life's questions. I would much rather be getting my fingernails removed than sit here and explain to my ex-boyfriend that the person I'm in love with is _not_ a gay guy.

Not even a _guy_ , in fact.

Honestly, if anyone told me this situation would _ever_ occur in my life, I would have had them committed. It constantly amazes me how many things have changed since I was last in this bedroom. It'd been a normal afternoon, Finn at his desk and my lying on his bed as we discussed something so unimportant. We probably did our homework, made out a little, and then had dinner before I went home.

I don't know, but things seemed so much simpler back then - even if they were still quite complicated.

Still, I wouldn't change a thing.

I'm finally... happy.

Okay, maybe I'm not quite _happy_ , but I'm in that realm. It's difficult not to be when I have a girl like Rachel Berry who _loves_ me.

"No, Finn," I say patiently. "I'm _definitely_ not in love with Blaine."

"But you said you're in love with someone," Finn reminds me, frowning. "Was that a lie?"

It most definitely was _not_ a lie, but I just about stop the words from falling past my lips. I am so dangerously and stupidly in love that I sometimes have to stop and just remind myself to _breathe_. I didn't even know a love like this could exist, and I count myself incredibly lucky that I even get to experience it _once_ in my lifetime.

And, to have found it this young, to top it all off; it's almost unheard of.

With a sigh, I exchange a meaningful look with Kurt - during which we make the, somewhat, mutual decision that we're going to have to take the gloves off for this one - but, before I can answer Finn, the boy is already speaking again.

"Because, I've totally had a girl say that to me before," he says, easily dropping his observation into the space among us.

It fills the air in all the worst ways, and I raise my eyebrows at the confession, wondering what that has to do with anything.

Kurt straightens suddenly, latching onto Finn's words like a bloodhound. "Oh? And, when was this?"

Almost offhandedly, Finn replies with an easy, "Last month," and then seems to catch himself, realising what he's just said. His eyes grow comically wide, and I have to hold in my laugh... that very quickly turns into something else entirely.

Something awful twists in my gut, and I pin him with my gaze. "Was this before or after you decided to start harassing everyone I know in your attempt to get me back?" I ask, suddenly irritated. I'm not even sure why I'm so annoyed. I don't want him back - _definitely_ not - but there's a part of me that's been convinced he was actually being sincere about his intentions towards me.

I was clearly wrong.

It definitely shouldn't hurt as much as it does, and I can't quite figure out _why_ it does. I don't think it has much to do with _Finn_ , but with the idea that he didn't _actually_ want _me_ back. I've toyed with the idea that he broke up with me - _after_ cheating on me - with the intention of experiencing whatever he could with _other girls_ while he still could; while he was at the peak of 'high school.'

So far, I've managed to avoid learning about any of those exploits, but I'm not naive enough to think they didn't - and, apparently, still do - happen. The confirmation is a little startling.

It's what he left me for, after all.

New experiences.

Because _I_ wasn't _enough_.

It's like a slap to the face the second I _remember_ , and I actually recoil. Kurt sends me a worried look, but I can't look at him. I've been doing so well, with Rachel and school and my sexuality and therapy and just _life_. I'm supposed to be fine. _Finn_ isn't supposed to be able to do this to me again.

Suddenly, it feels as if all the progress I've managed to do when it comes to him and how he's made me feel in the past amounts to nothing, and I suck in a sharp breath at how little he once he reduced me to... leaving me a crying mess on what could have been a stranger's sidewalk in the dark of a Friday night of November.

Kurt rises to his feet at the same time I do.

"I have to go," I manage to say. "Rachel's probably waiting for me."

And, then, I bolt.

Well, I don't _bolt_ per se, because I'm _Quinn Fabray_ , and that's not something I would actually do.

I just leave.

Briskly.

Thankfully, nobody comes after me, which isn't really a surprise. The only one who would is Rachel, and she's not here, because we made this horrific, mutual decision that we needed to do whatever we needed to do _alone_.

We are never doing that again.

Ever.

I don't really expect to find Rachel already at home when I get back - I assume one would speak with long-lost mothers for longer than an hour - but she's curled up on her bed when I enter the bedroom, and I immediately know something's wrong. It's practically filling the air, the atmosphere heavy with emotion and heartache.

I spend a moment contemplating my next course of action. I _know_ I'm going to climb onto the bed behind her and _hold_ her but, once I'm there, I'm not moving, so I need to do everything I need to before I do that. I make quick work of it, as I rush back downstairs to get Rachel a glass of water and some food, before I kindly inform her fathers that they probably won't see either of us until the next morning.

If they sense something amiss, they don't mention it, because they trust me enough to handle it.

And, the thing is I _can_.

Because, this is the relationship Rachel and I now have; the one we'll _always_ have. This is forever for both of us, and I strongly believe we're becoming one of those couples that can _face_ things together. It's taken us a long while to get here, and I'm under no illusions that we've finished growing as individuals or as a couple, but I can't help being proud of how far we've come.

Back in the bedroom, I put on some soft music, dim the lights, kick off my shoes and settle in right behind her, my body moulding to fit around hers. I don't ask any questions of her, particularly when I feel her body stop trembling at the comfort I'm offering.

I know when to wait out Rachel Berry.

"Did - did you know?" she whispers after the longest seven minutes.

"Did I know what?" I question softly, knowing not to speak too loudly.

"That she wanted another child."

I tense, because, maybe subconsciously, I've always known, and just never had to think about it beyond the fact that the woman didn't end up adopting my daughter. For the first time, I allow myself to be relieved by that because, God, that would have made everything infinitely more complicated, now that Rachel and I are together. That's, thankfully, not something I'm going to have to explain to Beth in the future.

"She was on the list of potential adoptive parents Finn and I went through," I eventually say, tightening my hold on her. "I didn't really think too much about it at the time. We - we considered her, but she didn't want an open adoption, which has always been strange to me, given..." I trail off.

"That she came seeking me out," Rachel finishes.

"Exactly," I murmur. "From what I read about and what Finn and I discussed, while we weren't ready to be a part of Beth's life at the time - well, _I_ wasn't, at least - I wanted to have the option, you know, one day, to make sure she knew that she's always been loved and _wanted_. And, if she wants to know me, I'm right here." I press a kiss to the back of Rachel's neck. "I didn't really think about Shelby after we found the right couple for us, and _we_ never really talked about her, so it didn't even cross my mind. I tend to compartmentalise a lot of things that happened at that time."

Rachel breathes out. "But, you knew?"

"I guess I did," I confess, closing my eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad at you or anything," she says. "I just - she mentioned that it wasn't a recent thing, and I was wondering if that was true. She said she's wanted to adopt for a while... since she met me, actually. And you, I guess." She shifts slightly. "God. Imagine how messed up things would be if she actually ended up adopting Beth."

"I was actually just thinking about that."

Rachel turns around in my arms, moving to rest her forehead against my sternum. "I don't know how to feel about this, Quinn," she mumbles into the fabric of my shirt. "She's wanted another, _different_ kid since she met _me_ , and I don't know what that says about me."

"It says nothing about you," I say resolutely. "It says more about her, really."

Rachel puffs out a warm breath. "I asked her what she was hoping to accomplish by bringing her new child here, to Lima, to meet me, and she said it was important to her that I meet my sibling."

I groan internally, because how can Shelby actually be that naïve?

"I mean, we barely even talk," Rachel continues, her eyes slipping closed. "We go months without contact and, even then, it's stilted and basic. She's never once mentioned a _baby_ or any desire to adopt, and now she decides to come to _my home_ and, what, show him off? _God_. You should have seen her beaming smile, Quinn; it's like he could do no wrong, and she couldn't stop herself from saying he's been the one thing she's been searching for her entire life. I don't want to be the kind of person that resents a _baby_ , but I can't help it. I just can't, when all I've wanted in the past is to have her look at _me_ that way.

"Is that too much to ask? Is it? Because, if it is, I need you to tell me. I need you to tell me if it's okay that I feel absolutely gutted that I clearly never proved to be enough; that I wasn't even worthy of having her _try_ with me, before she decided to go off and find another child that she could raise to be as perfect as she clearly realised I _wasn't_ when she finally met me. She - she even said that he was her chance to 'get it right,' and I - I - " her voice catches on an expected sob, and her breathing grows erratic. "God, how do you do this?"

"Do what?"

" _This_ ," she says with a heavy sigh. "Deal with not being _wanted_. Shelby isn't even my mother, and I'm a wreck. You spent _years_ with Judy, and I - I - _fuck_ , how do you do it?"

Surprising us both, I actually chuckle. "I don't know if you've missed the memo, Rach, but I'm severely fucked up. It's like a _thing_. How have you not noticed?"

She pinches my arm in response, and I yelp. "Don't talk about my girlfriend that way," she reprimands snootily.

I tighten my grip on her. "I won't lie to you, Rachel, because I'm done doing that. It hurts. All the time, it hurts, knowing she's out there, actively _not_ in my life. It's hard knowing that the woman who gave birth to you, who you _came_ from doesn't want you, because you've somehow disappointed her or let her down or turned out in a way she wasn't expecting. It's not something that just goes away. At least, it hasn't for me. I can't speak for anyone else, and this is just my experience.

"I think that mothers and daughters generally have complicated relationships, which is what I alluded to earlier. Yours and Shelby's is very different to mine and my mother's. You know that as well as I do. Maybe you're luckier, because Shelby _doesn't_ actually know you. It would be much harder to stomach if she did, believe me. If you'd allowed yourself to have an actual relationship with her, and then have her pull away; that would have been more devastating than what you're facing now. _Now_ , you're just mourning the _potential_ of something, and it's so much better to miss _that_ than the real thing."

"Is that how you feel about Beth?"

I can't help the fact that I tense at the thought, because, _God_ , that's not something I want to be thinking about. "I think, with Beth, it was different," I finally say.

"How so?"

"I realise, even as I say this, I may or may not be contradicting myself completely, so I'm just going to lead with the fact that the two of us probably just hit the _jackpot_ with our mothers." I lick my lips. "I miss Beth. I miss her in a way that physically hurts, Rachel, and I had only a few days with her. She couldn't even talk to me or recognise me and she'll never remember the time we had together, but I've come to realise that any amount of time with her was always going to wreck me.

"I just - I can't understand how any mother could have the opportunity to _be_ with her child, and deny themselves. It baffles me, because I would do anything to be in Beth's life, even if it's not in the way I've dreamed. And, I _do_. I respect the boundaries, but I intend to be as much a part of her life as her parents, and eventually her, will allow."

Rachel lifts her head to kiss the underside of my chin. "You're better than Shelby and Judy combined."

I shrug. "She was a good mother to Frannie," I say.

"And Shelby will probably be a good mother to Benji."

"Is that his name?"

"Benjamin, yes," she says, sighing. "He's unfairly cute, you know?"

"They generally are."

Rachel curls her fingers into my shirt, keeping me in place, even though I haven't moved more than an inch since I crawled onto this bed. "Does it make me a terrible person if I decide I don't actually want to know him, or her?" She breathes out. " _Why_ should his arrival change anything for her?"

"Why wouldn't it?" I counter. "Children change everything, don't they?"

She closes her eyes. " _I_ didn't."

And, really, I don't know what to say to that.

"She didn't even apologise," Rachel continues sombrely. "It was like everything before is just erased, now that she's decided her _son_ needs to know the child _she_ didn't want to know herself."

Like Rachel with my mother, I have a few choice words I would like to say to Shelby in this moment, but I don't know how much that'll be appreciated by Rachel. I'll still do it, though, and I wonder if it'll be easier to ask for permission or forgiveness.

Rachel buries her face against my chest for a moment, and then pulls back to look at me. "How did things go with Finn?" she asks.

I wince, despite myself.

"That bad, huh?"

I chuckle softly. "I don't know," I say. "I didn't really wait around."

"Did you make it clear to him?"

"That I'm not dating Blaine, yes," I confirm. "But not that I'm dating you."

She hums in understanding. "Did he say something to upset you?"

I'm tempted to lie, but I don't. "Not in so many words, no," I confess. "It just brought up a few feelings from the breakup that I thought I managed to work through, and I hate that I haven't actually come as far as I thought I had."

"Don't say that," Rachel says. "You've come so far, baby. You are so much more self-aware and open and willing and receptive and happy and - "

I kiss her before she can continue, because how can I not? It's a slow, simple kiss, that isn't meant to lead anywhere. I just want to kiss her, and it's very rare that we just _kiss_ for the sake of kissing, now that we do all the other good stuff as well. So, I gently nibble at her bottom lip, and revel in the sound of her content sigh.

"I love you," I whisper against her lips. "And, thank you."

"Thank you," she murmurs right back, and I've never felt as grounded and settled as I do in this moment. Her hands slide down my chest slowly, her fists now unclenched. They pause at the hem of my shirt as if she's asking the question, and I can't help my smile.

I reply non-verbally by putting my hands over hers and squeezing gently. Whatever I'm not saying, she seems to understand, because she just kisses me once, twice, and then rests her forehead against my sternum again, and _breathes_.

"Everything's going to be okay, right?" she whispers.

We both know I can't promise that, so I say, "I promise to do everything I possibly can to make sure it is."

She lifts her head to look at me. "And you question how far you've come," she mutters with a shake of her head. "Silly girl."

"Oh, hush."

"Can you promise me something else?"

I wait in silence.

"We're going to love our kids, right? With everything we have. It won't matter who they are or how they turn up. We're going to love them, through successes and failures, through disappointments and accomplishments, through all the tantrums and adoring hugs; just, through all of it, right?"

It's the easiest promise I'm sure I'll ever make. "I promise, Rachel."

She sighs, relaxing once more. "Me, too."

I didn't even know it was something I needed to hear until I did.

It's a promise I'll die trying to keep.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

I flinch at the voice, and look over my shoulder at Brittany. "Just checking up on flights out of Malibu," I tell her, showing her the screen of my phone. "I think, maybe, I should just go ahead and book the latest one we can get on Thursday night, and just hope Coach will let us fly straight to Chicago without having to come back to Ohio with the rest of the Squad."

Brittany moves to sit on the bench right next to me, her left arm immediately linking with my right one. "Have you talked to her?"

"Who?"

"Coach."

I shake my head. "I'm wary of drawing attention to it," I admit. "If I bring it up, she may or may not make a decision to make it more difficult for us to get back, so I'm hanging onto hope that she'll be feeling generous when we win her another Nationals' Title."

Brittany smiles widely. "Do you really think we'll win?"

I nod. "I'm sure of it."

"How?"

"We have you, don't we?"

If it's even possible, her smile gets wider. "You do, don't you?"

"Which automatically means we're going to win," I confirm.

She looks thoughtful for a moment. "But we didn't win two years ago, and you had me," she points out and, before I can offer an explanation, she continues. "It's because we didn't have _you_. We need both of us."

"All three of us," I clarify when I spot Santana enter the gym with several members of our Squad. We have just a few days to go before we board the plane for one of the most important competitions of our lives, and I can feel the anxiety and excitement in the atmosphere. For some of the younger girls, this is their first go at it and, for me and the rest of the Seniors; this is our last.

"Hello, bitches," Santana says when she's close enough to where Brittany and I are sitting in the bleachers.

"Hey, San," Brittany says, jumping to her feet to give her a hug - and a quick kiss. The Squad is used to it by now, and this is one of those places where my best friends can just be themselves. Even if someone _does_ have a problem with it, they wouldn't dream of saying anything because I think they're afraid of me or Santana. She can be terrifying, sometimes, and even I wouldn't dream of crossing her.

I imagine she packs a punch.

Brittany drags Santana down to sit with us, and then briefly explains the flight situation to her while I continue to scroll through the available flights.

"There are two that leave early Friday morning," I inform them both. "Both leaving around one o'clock."

Santana cringes. "What time would we land?"

"Around seven, with the time difference," I tell her. "Flight time is almost four hours, though, landing at O'Hare."

Santana leans over Brittany to look at my phone's screen. "Are you already booking tickets?"

"I might as well," I say. "I'll check the box for a higher refunded cancellation, just in case, but I think it's going to be our best bet, regardless of how well or badly we do in Malibu."

"We're going to win, and you fucking know it."

I just nod. "Well, if we don't manage to catch either of these two, then the next one is at six o'clock in the morning, and that might be cutting it too close, seeing as we don't know the performance schedule for the first round."

"You'd think these show choir people would be more on the ball about stuff like this, huh?"

"Rude," Brittany comments, and I can't help my smile. I really love these two girls, and I shudder to think about where I would be without them. I doubt I would have been brave enough to pursue a relationship with Rachel without them, and what kind of life would that be for me?

"Wait," Santana says, her brow furrowing as her eyes stay on my phone; "are you buying Business Class?"

I glance at her. "Yip," I say.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Santana looks incredulously at me. "Q," she starts; "be serious."

"I am," I say. "We're going to be coming off of a gruelling few days, only to go into at least another two. It's probably the only sleep we're going to get on Thursday night, so I'd like to be comfortable."

She still looks dubious.

"By all means, I can book Economy for you, if you'd like, and Britt and I can relax in style."

"Bitch."

"Takes one to know one."

Santana sticks out her tongue.

"Stop bitching, and just let me treat us," I say. "I want us to be on point when we get to Chicago. I just want us to _get there_ , really. I - I can't let her down. I _can't_."

Santana _gets_ it, even without my having to explain. "Okay, Quinn," she says. "You do whatever you need to do, and we'll be right there with you, helping you burn through your Trust Fund."

"Thank you, San."

She shrugs, which earns her a kiss to the cheek from Brittany and a squeeze to the shoulder from me. The affection appears to be too much for her, because she squirms away and jumps to her feet. "Bitches," she grumbles.

Brittany and I just giggle, as we watch her go.

* * *

"Hello."

For the most part, I'm tempted to hang up and forget about doing this at all, but I'm invested. A part of me accepts that Rachel would be doing the same thing for me, which is what I use to get my mouth moving.

"Hello," I say; "Is this Shelby?"

"Speaking."

I close my eyes. "This is Quinn," I start. "Rachel's, uh, friend."

"Oh."

I wonder if Rachel told her anything about what our relationship used to be like. At the time Shelby was initially involved in Rachel's life; Rachel and I were _not_ friends. We weren't tormentor and bullied anymore, but we weren't close. We both had more than enough to deal with, without trying to get involved in each other's lives.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I'm calling," I start.

"I'm assuming it's to do with Rachel."

"That would be correct."

"She - she didn't seem too happy with me the last time we spoke."

"I think you can imagine why."

Shelby is silent for a moment. "I can, in hindsight."

I clear my throat. "Is there any chance you have some time to meet with me?" I ask. "There are a few things I think we need to discuss."

If she thinks anything that's happening is strange, she doesn't mention it. Instead, she says, "I'm here at Royal Park, if you'd like to stop by. Do you know it?"

"I do," I say, immediately getting to my feet and grabbing for my car keys. "I run past there sometimes."

"We're by the sandbox," she says.

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

It takes me twelve.

I can't really admit it out loud, but there's a part of me that's actually nervous about all of this. Despite it all, this woman _is_ Rachel's mother, which means her opinion does matter, in some warped way. I intend to spend the rest of my life with Rachel, and it would probably work in my favour _not_ to have one of her parents actually hate me.

Oh, well.

I find Shelby sitting on a bench, her focus split between reading a book about raising children and watching the children playing in the sandbox just in front of her. She looks different to how I remember, and I reason the pregnancy must have done something to my memories. She looks less like Rachel, now, which is odd. Is it Rachel who's changed, or is it Shelby?

Does it even matter?

It takes her a moment to notice my approach, and I'm not surprised by the fact she doesn't offer me a smile.

I do, though, because I don't want this conversation to be antagonistic. It's supposed to be informative. There are things she needs to know, and I need to warn her and remind her that Rachel has people who love and care for her, and we're not going to stand for Shelby performing a repeat of what happened sophomore year.

"Hi," I say. "Thanks for meeting me."

"Of course," she says, somewhat guardedly as she invites me to sit beside her with a wave of her hand.

I sit, back straight and hands in my lap. I'm tempted to cut straight to the chase, but my eyes catch sight of the children in the sandbox, and I can't resist. "Which one is yours?" I ask, nodding at the group of kids making a mess of themselves in the dirt.

Shelby shifts slightly, a proud smile spreading across her face. "He's in the green shirt," she says.

My eyes land on him, and I can't help my own smile. "He's adorable," I say.

"I like to think so."

"Benji, right?"

She glances at me. "Correct."

I drop my gaze to my lap. "My daughter's name is Beth," I tell her. "She just turned two."

"I'm sure she's beautiful, Quinn."

"She is," I say. "She's happy and safe and cared for, and I'm thankful every day that we managed to find a good, kind, loving home for her."

Shelby audibly swallows. "Do you think she wouldn't have found that with me?"

I look at her. "That's the thing, Shelby," I say; "I never would have known, would I?"

Shelby holds my gaze. "I thought it would hurt everyone less in the long run, for everything to be separate; for the relationship to be severed."

"You were wrong."

"I was wrong," she agrees.

I breathe out slowly. "Where are Benji's biological parents?"

"His father is in jail," she says; "and his mother - "

I wait.

"She's not fit to raise him," she says. "It's doubtful she'll ever be."

"Will she ever see him again?" Quinn asks. "Will you ever allow her that option?"

Shelby looks towards Benji, who's obliviously playing in the sand. "If she can get herself together, then, yes."

"Really?"

Shelby sighs. "I suppose it's difficult to believe, given my desire for a closed adoption," she says. "But, I've given it a lot of thought. I _know_ what it's like to be forced to stay away from my child, and I don't want that for anyone else. I don't think I'm essentially _bad_ for Rachel, but I don't think I'm good either. I - I can never be what she needs."

"How do you know?" I ask. "Have you ever asked her what she needs?"

"She told me," she says; "and it terrified me. I didn't want her to be disappointed in me, and the only way that could happen is if she didn't actually get to know _me_."

"You have to know she wouldn't care," I tell her. "She still doesn't."

Shelby wrings her fingers together. "I went away, thinking it was what was best, because I didn't believe I could be the mother she needed."

"But, you're back now," I point out. "Why?"

"I missed her," Shelby admits. "I missed her, and I wanted to see her, and I wanted Benji to meet her because, like it or not, all these relationships are important. I won't have him growing up without knowing who she is. I won't be able to live with myself, otherwise."

I shift slightly. "Rachel is my best friend," I say. "She's very important to me."

"I'm beginning to understand that."

"She doesn't talk much about you," I tell her. "In fact, before your arrival in Lima, we haven't discussed you at all."

Shelby winces.

"I'm not saying that to hurt you," I say. "It's just the truth of the situation. She _doesn't_ talk about _you_ , Shelby, and Rachel is a girl who talks about nearly everything. She doesn't shy away from anything, which really makes her situation with you unique."

"I really hurt her."

I nod. "In ways neither of us will ever understand," I confirm. "Do you know anything about her life, right now?"

"Not really," she admits. "I know from the show choir circuit that the New Directions are headed to Nationals. She must be excited."

"Oh, yes," I say with a laugh. "One could say that."

"Are you guys ready?"

I nod. "As ready as we can be," I say. "Given our previous experiences, it's the best we can hope for."

Shelby laughs softly. "I'm sure you'll do well."

"We intend to win."

"I have no doubt you will."

I glance at her. "Even if we take out Vocal Adrenaline?"

"I would love that, really," she says. "It would just prove how useless they are without me."

"It's all about the loyalty, isn't it?"

Shelby shrugs. "Not with VA," she says; "but, maybe with New Directions. You guys have always been superior to us in all the important ways."

"Are you referring to the fact that we're not actual robots?"

"Something like that, yes," she agrees with a smile. It fades, eventually, and we both fall into a silence that is both comfortable and uncomfortable. "I get the feeling there's something very specific you want to tell me."

"Rachel is my priority," I say, and I don't even care what that might reveal about my relationship with Rachel. "And, I won't sit idly by and let you mess with her again. I wasn't in the right frame of mind to protect her before, and we weren't the kind of friends we are now back then, so this is what I need to say. As of right now, I'm not much of a fan of you."

Shelby presses her lips together. "I've gathered that much."

"I have my own issues with you," I say; "but, then, this is about Rachel. It's _always_ going to be Rachel."

"I'm listening."

"Don't use your son as an excuse to get to know your daughter," I say. "If you want to know her, then just _tell her_ , and then follow through with it. If you're not serious about _her_ , then please, please don't half-ass it. You're either _in_ , or you're _out_. Rachel won't survive going toe-to-toe with you again, just for you to pull out of this dance the two of you have been involved in... from afar."

She winces at the sound of my last word, and I know she recalls the conversation to which I'm alluding.

"I don't think you even know how much power you have," I continue. "And, I'm asking you to use it wisely. She's - she's hurt enough, at the hands of far too many people, including myself, and you have to know what it's like to be given another chance. It's - it's amazing, and you would be insane to let this chance go."

"But - but she _hasn't_ given me a chance."

"Have you _asked_ for one?"

"No," Shelby says. "I haven't."

"If it's _really_ what you want, then, well, take the initiative," I say. "If it's not what you want, then, please just _leave her alone_."

Shelby sucks in a breath.

"Do you hear what I'm saying?"

"I do," she says with a nod. "I do, Quinn."

I smooth a hand over my hair. "I won't let you hurt her again, Shelby," I say. "I've _seen_ what that hurt has done to her, and I don't want that for her ever again."

Shelby looks at me, and there's something different in her gaze - something _knowing_. "She's really important to you," she says.

"She is," I confirm without hesitation.

She nods her head. "I can't promise I'll never hurt her," she says, "because I'm only human, and we have a lot of things to work through. But, I do want to know her. I just - I don't know _how_."

"Ask her," I tell her. "It's what I did. Just, ask her and be present. Show up. It's all she wants. Rachel's love languages are simple, and she appreciates every little thing."

"I'll keep note of that," she says, her eyes staying on my face. "You - you seem to know quite a bit about her."

"I do," I say. "We're very close."

It looks as if she has more questions but, before she can think to ask them, a tiny voice calls out, and Shelby's attention snaps away from me to where Benji seems to be clambering out of the sandbox. Shelby gets to her feet immediately, but she just watches as Benji gets himself out of the box and then hobbles towards her.

Something clenches in my chest, and it _hurts_.

It would break my heart to _witness_ Beth with Julia, so I can only imagine what it's like for Rachel to view Shelby and Benji. It's different, and still the same.

It's always going to hurt.

"I should - " she starts.

I get to my own feet. "I need to go, anyway," I tell her. "Thank you for talking to me."

"No. Thank _you_ , Quinn," she says, her eyes drifting back to me. "I get the feeling you and I are going to be seeing a lot more of each other."

I let out a small laugh. "Oh, I'm sure we will," I say, which may or may not prove to be the understatement of the year.

* * *

If ever I was confused about my girlfriend's feelings regarding my impending departure, all I have to do is watch as she takes the clothes I put into my suitcase right back out, all while sporting a disgruntled pout and a furrowed brow.

Her next words give her away, regardless.

"I don't want you to go."

I can't help my chuckle. "I have to," I inform her. "If I'm not at the school parking lot at exactly ten o'clock tomorrow morning, there's going to be hell to pay by _someone_. I'm quite certain Coach Sylvester _would_ resort to violence, if need's be. She's terrifying."

Rachel huffs. "Well, when you put it like that," she grumbles. "It's just - "

"What, baby?" I ask, picking out a few more tops for my suitcase. Hopefully, Rachel will let these ones stay in position.

Rachel stretches out on the bed in the guest bedroom, groaning slightly. "I'm going to miss you," she finally says. "We _don't_ spend time apart and, I mean, I know I'm going to have to get used to it when we're at college, but the thought of being apart from you for almost a full week is causing me anxiety, and I don't like it. Ergo, I don't want you to go."

I stop my packing and give her my full attention. "I realise this is probably a much more intense conversation we're going to have at some point, but it _is_ only six days, Rach. We'll text, and I'll call you, and we're both going to be so busy, the time is just going to fly by, you'll see. Before you know it, I'll be in Chicago, and we're going to claim that Nationals' Title we've been working towards for three, long years."

She lifts her head slightly. "Do you really think we're going to win?"

I wait a moment, and then I nod. "I think we've prepared more for this competition than all the others combined," I tell her. "We've had success in the past, and I believe we'll have more now. We'll definitely do better than we did in New York, that's for sure."

"Can't do any worse," she grumbles, settling back against the sheets. It's quiet for a while, and I use the opportunity to continue with my packing. I have to choose clothes for the Malibu weather _and_ the Chicago weather, which are vastly different, even in June. "I don't want to perform without you."

I sigh. "I promise to do everything in my power to get us there on time," I say, because it's all I can say. At this point, all I can hope is that our flight doesn't get delayed, _and_ we're one of the schools that gets to perform on Saturday. It's a fifty-fifty chance, at this point, and nobody knows how they're dividing the fifty competing schools into the two groups, or even what order we're going to be in.

If it goes alphabetically, it still leaves things up in the air, because it could be by group name, by school or even by State.

There are too many unknowns, and the calls I placed to the organisers offered us no answers. Apparently, even _they_ don't know what the judges of the entire competition have decided. They're _trying_ to make it as impartial as possible, and I _should_ commend them for it, but _come on_. They're really not helping my case here.

"No, Quinn," she says; "I don't want to perform without _you_. Everyone else, well, they pale in comparison, okay? I want to be on stage with you, Quinn. None of it means anything if you're not there."

"Shit, Rach," I say; "way to pile on the pressure."

"As long as you know."

I roll my eyes. "I know."

"So, you'd better be there on time, Fabray."

"I'm going to do my best."

She sits up to look at me properly. "I love you, you know that, right?"

I nod. "Remind me, anyway."

"I love you."

I smile at her, and then walk back to the closet. "So, it's unlikely we're going to have any free time with Sue Sylvester as warden, but I still think we might be able to sneak away to the beach at some point."

"The beach," she echoes.

"The beach," I confirm.

"As in, you're going to wear a bikini?" she asks, asking the question that may or not plague me. "In front of people?"

I lick my lips. "I'm - I'm not as worried about the scars as I used to be," I tell her. "Most of the girls on the Squad _have_ seen them, and I'm tying not to worry about what other people think of me, anymore."

Her features soften. "Really, and you worry about how far you've come," she muses. "You are amazing, Quinn Fabray, and I can't wait to see you grow and blossom when we're finally out of this place."

I blush, despite myself. "I love you, too, Rachel Berry," I say, and it's doubtful I'll ever grow tired of saying those words to her. Why did it take me so long to say the words, in the first place?

Rachel smiles happily, and then lies back again while I continue to pack... the things that Rachel took _out_ of my suitcase in the first place. She's content to lie there while I move around her, my _iPod_ playing soft music in the background. We don't usually spend all that much time in here, but it still feels like a room that's... ours.

This is our life.

 _She_ is my life.

"Done," I finally declare. "Well, I mean, as done as I can be until tomorrow morning. My toiletries still have to go in, and I need to grab my underwear from next door."

"No," she groans. "Don't go."

I chuckle. "Where are your fathers?"

"Out."

"Will they be here in the morning?"

"To see you off?"

I nod.

"Of course."

I can't stop my smile... or my blush. "That's - that's good."

She smiles at me. "You're cute, baby."

"Hmm," I murmur, and then start for the door. "I need to grab some other things from your room."

"You can get them later," she says, her left hand reaching out to grip my wrist as I attempt to walk past.

"Okay...?"

"Just so you know, if I'm not going to get to see you and touch you and kiss you for six long days, then you're going to have to make it up to me, somehow."

"Oh?"

She tugs hard, and I go flailing, falling right onto her on the bed.

"Rachel!" I complain, winding us both.

She just wraps her arms around my chest, and her legs come up around my waist, pinning me in place. "Quinn," she murmurs, her breath warm against my skin. "We're about to embark on something we've never done before."

I shift slightly, trying to look at her face. "And, what's that?" I ask.

"A sex marathon."

For the life of me, I can't stop my laugh even if I try, which I don't. "A sex marathon?"

She nods, looking as serious as ever. "A _marathon_ , Quinn," she says. "We're going to be apart for _six_ nights, which means - "

"Six orgasms," I finish for her.

"I _knew_ I had a genius for a girlfriend."

I laugh, this happy sound. "God, I love you," I say, punctuating my words with a resounding kiss to her lips. "So, so much."

She giggles helplessly as I drag my lips along her jaw and down the column of her throat. "Six orgasms, Quinn," she reminds me, already breathless. " _Six_."

I growl into the crook of her neck, and shift my hips to grind against her. "Well," I say, my right hand dragging down her body, its destination already in mind. "I suppose I should get to work."

And, really, I go above and beyond.


	58. fifty-eight

**Chapter Fifty-Eight**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _i wake to you everywhere._  
 _yet you are not here._

 _._

"Oh, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

I roll over onto my stomach, stretching my arms under my pillow at the sudden noise.

"Oh, fuckity fuck fuck fuck!"

I shift again. "Quinn," I grumble in annoyance. "Ssh."

"Rachel!" she hisses. "Get up! I need my - oh, fuck! I'm so fucking late! I'm going to die. She's going to kill me. I'm literally going to die, and she's going to make it painful."

"Quinn, please," I murmur into my pillow. "I'm trying to sleep."

"Rachel!" she snaps, and that's a tone of voice I haven't heard in a while. "Get up!"

I lift my head, my eyes blinking rapidly as I try to focus on Quinn, who's hopping across the carpet in an attempt to gather her clothing. "What - what on earth are you doing?" I ask, moving to roll onto my back and exposing my bare chest.

"Look at the fucking time!" she almost yells, and then storms out of the room towards the guest bathroom.

All I can do is stare into the space she just vacated as my brain slowly attempts to catch up with the day. I'm definitely not fully awake, because my vision is still a bit blurry, and my body aches in all the best ways. Muscles I didn't even know I had are complaining, and I can't even be mad.

My body is littered with bruises, some very carefully placed and others a result of the pressure of Quinn's hands or my violent thrashing as I came undone a total of seven (and-a-half) times.

When I asked for a sex marathon; a sex marathon is what I got.

I lazily roll my head to the side to look at the time, and then bolt straight out of bed. It's a quarter to ten, and Quinn is expected at the school in fifteen minutes. No wonder she's freaking out.

I send her a mental thank you that she left my bathroom free for me, and I spend a moment freshening up before I rush downstairs to get her some breakfast and pack some snacks for the bus ride to Columbus, and then the flight to LAX. I'm suddenly thankful we're both rather pedantic about being prepared, which makes my job easier. Almost everything is already ready to go - I just have to take it all out of the fridge.

Five minutes later, Quinn is trudging into the kitchen, dragging her suitcase behind her with her backpack slung over one shoulder. She looks freshly-showered, but still as put together as any other time.

It's not even fair.

"Is it weird that I'm a little irritated with your fathers right now?" Quinn grumbles as she steps towards me.

I offer her a piece of watermelon that she immediately eats off the fork. "Completely understandable," I assure her, because I'm a little irritated with them as well. They were supposed to get back some time last night, but they ended up texting that they'd _partied_ a little too hard with their friends from college in Columbus, and they decided to spend the night there.

They're supposed to meet Quinn at the airport.

 _If_ she can get there in time.

If Sue Sylvester doesn't straight-up murder her.

"Are you ready?" Quinn asks.

"Are you?"

She nods. "Are you ready to break the speed limit?"

"Have you taken your pills?"

Quinn's eyes widen, and then she races back up the stairs as I let out a giggle. I put her packed food in her backpack, and then grab my keys and purse before rolling her suitcase out to the car.

 _Quinn's_ SUV.

While I might not _like_ the car, I can appreciate the role the old one played in insuring my girlfriend is still alive and healthy. It's grown on all of us, it seems, and it's technically a free car, which is always useful.

Quinn and I still haven't decided if we're going to drive it up to Connecticut. Part of me thinks Quinn wants to remain as anonymous as possible when she gets to Yale, and being _that_ Freshman with a _Range Rover_ is not going to help with that. She's toying with the idea of downgrading, but we still have a few months to make those decisions.

Just a _few_ months.

I roll the suitcase to the back of the car, leaving it for Quinn - _she's_ the cheerleader in this relationship - and then I start the car, climbing into the driver's seat. I'm still in the middle of picking out the music when Quinn rushes into the garage. She sees to her suitcase quickly, gets into the passenger's seat, and then we're on the way.

"I still don't want you to go," I say, because I honestly can't help it.

"Oh, I see," she says, glancing at me. "Making me late was all part of your diabolical plan to keep me here."

"I think we're both suffering from sex-brain."

"Speak for yourself," she grumbles. Then: "go faster, baby."

I can't help my smirk. "Are you _sure_ you're not still stuck in last night?" I ask. " _Faster, baby_."

Quinn shoots a glare at me. "Just drive," she says.

And, I do.

We get to school just in time, and Quinn lets out a sigh of relief when she doesn't see Coach Sylvester anywhere. She glances at me. "I wish I'd kissed you before we left," she confesses, looking slightly put out.

I glance past her at the waiting bus and her congregated Squad. A lot of them are already watching us, so I know we won't be able to steal a kiss. I still reach for hand and give it a squeeze. "And, here I was thinking that you were all kissed out after last night?"

She flushes. "You should know, by now, that I will never get enough of you."

"I hope you'll remember that twenty years from now, after we've pushed out our four, maybe five, kids and the spark is dying."

Her eyes narrow. "Our spark is never going to die," she says. "Don't say things like that."

I can't help my smile at the indignant look on her face and severity in her voice. "Okay, baby."

She glances over her shoulder. "I should probably get going," she says. "I should be setting a better example."

"You mean, other than showing up late with a sex hangover?"

"Shut up," she mutters, and then gathers her backpack. "I would tell you I'm going to miss you and I love you, but you're being mean to me."

I keep hold of her hand. "I love you," I say. "And, I'm going to miss you."

"Whatever," she grumbles, and then gets out. I'm tempted to climb out with her, but I don't think it'll be a good idea to draw too much attention to our 'morning after' vibes that seem to be rolling off of us. I can already imagine what Santana probably thinks about what she's seeing.

Quinn gets her suitcase, and then rolls it towards my window. She taps once, and I roll it down, smiling expectantly.

"Can I help you?"

"I love you," she says. "And, I'm going to miss you." And, then, she leans in, her lips pressing against the corner on my mouth. She pulls back with a naughty grin on her face. "I sincerely hope you enjoy the next six nights _without_ me."

I narrow my eyes. "At least I'll have the privacy to do something about it," I say. " _You_ have to deal with Santana and Brittany." I say it to irritate her because, even though our friends have technically broken up, they still seem to find themselves engaging in sexual activities _everywhere_ , and _all the time_.

Quinn cocks her head to the side. "Who knows," she murmurs; "if I ask nicely, they might let me join in."

And then she's going, a little extra swagger in her step as I watch her walk, quietly appreciating just how sexy my girlfriend actually is.

Eventually, I do close my mouth and roll up the window, but I don't leave straight away. I wait to see them all off, receiving a text from Quinn with an attached picture of her, Santana and Brittany sitting in what looks like the back of the bus.

 _Quinn: And, we're off! (Britt's still convinced I could have fit you into my suitcase). I love you, and I'll text you when we're at the airport._

As pathetic as it sounds, I already miss her.

 **Berry: I'm pretty sure we could have made it happen. (You're the one who's constantly marvelling at just how flexible I am). Drive safely, and I love you too. (Also, I may or may not already miss you).**

 _Quinn: Ditto, baby. Xx_

I sigh contently as I finally pull out of the school's parking lot and head home. I have probably the next six hours to myself, and I _could_ use them to fit in a vocal lesson or pop into the dance studio, but my body is aching _pleasantly_ and I'm exhausted.

It seems I'm not the only one because, as soon as I step out of the shower, I receive another text, but from Santana this time.

 _ **Santana: What the fuck did you do to her?**_

A picture of a sleeping Quinn, curled up on the seat, comes in next, and I can't help it when my mouth immediately says _aww_.

 _ **Santana: She zonked out like five seconds in, mumbling something about a marathon. Like, what the fuck? Why on earth would you let her go running?**_

I can't help my giggle.

Oh, boy.

 **Berry: It was a SEX marathon, Santana.**

 _ **Santana: OMFG! I need to scrub my eyes. What is wrong with you?**_

 **Berry: Absolutely nothing. Just ask Quinn.**

 _ **Santana: Who are you?**_

 **Berry: I think you already know I'm full of surprises.**

 _ **Santana: This is too much. I can't deal with you, right now.**_

 **Berry: I'm going to remember this, just so you know.**

 _ **Santana: Me too, Berry. I'm officially scarred for life.**_

I laugh to myself, because it always fascinates me what I've managed to gain in addition to Quinn. I might have managed to find and hold onto the girl I've come to see as the absolute love of my life, but I've always found friends whom I hope will last a lifetime.

I mean, I'm going to New York with Santana and Kurt, which is just amazing and surreal, and I hope we can manage to hold onto the foundation of friendship we've managed to build here. It would be heartbreaking if any of that fell apart, but I'm as confident in those friendships as I am in my relationship with Quinn.

We're just going to have to work at it, like with everything else, but we've already come so far.

Once I'm dressed for a casual day at home, I start on the laundry. I definitely need to change the sheets on my bed - _and_ the bed in the guest room - because Quinn and I managed to dirty them all with our exploits. I blush at the memory of Quinn's hands and her mouth and _God_ , _we are so doing that again when she gets back_.

I'm in the middle of preparing my own lunch when another picture comes through, this time into the Berry family message group - that we've added Quinn to. The picture is of Quinn sandwiched between my dads, and I feel this warmth spread through my chest at the sight of it. It's probably, definitely, going to be my new wallpaper. The three of them are literally my favourite people in the entire world, so why wouldn't they be?

 _ **Daddy: Blondie is safely on her way, Sweetheart.**_

 _ **Dad: She totally rolled her eyes at us when we tried to give her pocket money. These millionaires are so snobbish.**_

 _Quinn: You do know I can see what you're saying, right? That's how this thing works._

 _ **Dad: We love you, Q. Be safe, and good luck!**_

I'm in the middle of my own reply when my phone starts to ring, Shelby's name popping up on my screen. I'm tempted - so, so tempted - not to answer, but experience has shown me that she's not going to stop calling until she gets a hold of me. Perhaps I inherited my stubbornness and determination from her.

So, with a heavy sigh, I answer with a forced, "Hello."

"Rachel, hi," Shelby says. "How - how are you?"

I step back from where I'm just about to start peeling an avocado, and sigh. "I'm all right," I say, which is a bit of a lie. "How are you?"

"I've been better," she admits. "I was calling to, umm, I was thinking that we should probably talk."

"Oh?"

"I realise it's short notice, but are you free today?" she asks. "We could, maybe, get some lunch together. If you're free."

I look down at my lack lustre lunch. "Now?"

Shelby sucks in a breath. "Whenever you're free."

"I can meet you in about forty minutes," I tell her. "I'm currently in sweatpants and a t-shirt."

"The perfect Saturday attire."

I find myself smiling. "Exactly."

"I don't mind waiting, whenever you're ready," she says. "There's a neat little cafe, Wembley, on Wetton Road; do you know it?"

"I do, yes."

"Is two o'clock too late?"

"It's perfect."

"See you, then."

"Later."

I'm not sure how I feel about what I just agreed to, but I'm trying not to think too hard about it. If she wants to talk, then I'm willing to let her. Giving endless chances to people is one of my vices, maybe, but I wouldn't change that about myself, because I ended up with Quinn Fabray in my life in ways people never could have predicted.

Maybe being the type of person I am might come back to bite me, but I'm still willing to try.

I get back to my family's group to find a whole host of texts among the three of them, each of them shooting kind-spirited barbs at one another. I read through them with a wide smile on my face, loving them even more with every message that pops up.

 **Rachel: I can't even explain how much I love you guys.**

 _ **Daddy: Suck up.**_

 _ **Dad: We love you too, honey.**_

 _Quinn: We've just boarded. I'll text when we land. Love you all!_

 _Quinn: (But especially you, Rachel.)_

 _ **Daddy: Suck ups. Suck ups, everywhere.**_

Who needs anyone else when I have these three wonderful people?

* * *

"Where's, uh, Benji?"

Shelby shifts in her seat. "He's with my parents," she says, sipping at her water. "I wanted it to be just the two of us."

"Oh?"

"I realise, in hindsight, that it probably should have been the two of us in the first place," she says. "I shouldn't have sprung Benji on you the way I did. I should have brought it up another way, and I _definitely_ shouldn't have used him as an excuse to - "

"To what?"

"To see you."

I glance down at my fingers on the table. "I'm not sure I'm following."

"I came about this the wrong way," Shelby admits, looking thoroughly uncomfortable with the confession. "I - I made the wrong decision two years ago," she continues, anyway, as if she's decided the best thing she can do is just get it all out while she still can. "I thought _not_ being in your life is what you needed. I started to think that I was just disrupting everything you already knew, and I didn't want to be that selfish, so I made the decision for both of us that it would be best if we weren't _in_ each other's lives. But, I was wrong, Rachel, and it's taken Benji... and Quinn, to help me realise that."

I look up, my eyes wide. "Quinn?"

"You're very important to her, Rachel," she says, and there's a knowing quality to her voice, even though it's obvious she's not _sure_ about what she suspects about the state of Quinn's and my relationship.

"She talked to you?"

Shelby nods. "Please don't be mad at her. She was just, well, trying to warn me."

"Warn you?"

"To make a definitive decision and stick with it, because she won't sit idly by and watch me hurt you again."

I shake my head. "She's such an idiot," I murmur.

"I don't know what this says about me, but there's an actual part of me that's afraid of a teenager."

I can't help my laugh. "Don't worry," I say; "you're definitely not the only one."

She smiles genuinely. "You're lucky to have someone that protective looking out for you."

I nod, because I _am_ lucky.

We fall silent when our food arrives, and the quiet isn't as uncomfortable as it was the last time we met up. My heart is beating steadily, and I'm already drafting my message to Quinn, which may or may not include a few saucy words to make her _hot_. Because I love her, and because she deserves it after all of this.

 _This_.

Shelby, who is looking at me with a foreign kindness to which I'm not used, at all.

I clear my throat. "So, umm, how is... work?" I flush. "Sorry, I don't even know what you do now."

"I'm a vocal coach in New York," she says.

My eyes light up. "Tell me the truth: have you made any students cry?"

"Oh, all the time."

I let out a giggle. "I can only imagine."

"I've actually been toying with the idea of moving back to Ohio," she says. "I'm not sure I want to raise Benji in the city, and it'll be nice to be near my parents, and I - " she stops. "To be honest, I would want to be closer to you, but I don't know where you're going to be."

I have to laugh, because I can't not. "I'm going to New York in the Fall," I say.

"Oh?"

I nod. "I'll be attending NYADA."

Shelby's eyes widen ever so slightly, and her face splits into a wide, proud smile, and I _feel_ the weight of my accomplishment in this moment. It doesn't _compare_ to Quinn or my dads' reactions, but it still means something.

"That's amazing, Rachel," Shelby says. "That's wonderful, and I'm - I'm so proud of you. I don't know if I'm allowed to be or if it even means anything to you, but I am. NYADA is a very prestigious school, and it's quite the accomplishment to get an actual audition, let alone be accepted."

"Kurt also got in," I tell her. "We're going together." I pause. "Well, as together as boys and girls can get."

"I believe there are shared dorms," Shelby says; "though, sharing _rooms_ isn't something you should be expecting."

"It's something I'm worried about, though," I admit, which probably surprises us both. "What if the person I end up with is not compatible with my personality?"

"When do you find out who your roommate is?"

"Beginning of August," I inform her.

"I don't think you should worry about it until you have to," Shelby says. "Even when you start communicating with her, written word is very different to real life."

I should know.

"I think you should go in with an open mind, and just embrace it," she says. "Sometimes, clashing with your roommate is part of the college experience. It'll give you some fodder to use for your future career."

I can't help my laugh. "I'll remember that."

"So, you said Kurt is going to New York," she says; "Is Quinn also going?"

My smile slips slightly. "Uh, no," I say; "she's actually going to New Haven. Yale."

"Wow."

I breathe out. "It is impressive, isn't it?"

"You must be proud."

"I am," I confess.

"But...?"

"I _really_ want her to be in New York," I say. "It's a topic of contention with us, but I'm working at accepting it. I think I'm just so used to how it is to have her around every day, and now - now I have to face the idea of spending weeks at a time without her." I realise, after the words are out, that I've probably revealed far too much, but I'm not sure I care all that much. It seems as if she already knows, anyway. Quinn might have already, inadvertently, given us away.

Shelby just waits in silence.

"You haven't asked me if I'm in a relationship," I point out.

Her smile is warm, gentle. "I haven't, no."

"Because, you already know?"

"If you're worried if I'll have a problem with it, I don't think I have to remind you who your parents are."

My gaze drifts to the side, my heartbeat rising. "There's a difference between being okay with it, and being _okay_ with it," I say.

"Whichever one, I _am_ okay with it," Shelby reassures. "It doesn't matter to me, at all. As long as you're happy, and she treats you the way you deserve, then who am I to have a problem with it?"

"Oh, okay."

"Are you happy?"

And, God, I do the completely childish thing and blush brightly, my head automatically ducking to hide it.

"I'll take that as a yes," Shelby says with a laugh. "I'm glad, Rachel. It's all I've ever wanted for you."

"Really?"

"Yes," she says strongly. "And - and, I want to ask if you would let me be a part of it."

"Part of what?"

"Your happiness."

I blink repeatedly, unsure what to say.

"It doesn't have to be anything monumental," Shelby says. "We can work at whatever pace you'd like, or whatever you're willing to allow. I just - I decided."

"You decided?"

"Quinn," she says; "she told me to decide between whether or not I want to be a full part of your life, or not be in it at all. It shouldn't be halfway, and then she told me that I shouldn't waste this chance with you."

I audibly swallow, my fingers itching to talk to Quinn again, even though I know she's on a plane right now.

"So, I've decided," Shelby says; "and she's right. You deserve more from me, and I want to do better. I can't apologise enough for how I treated you before, but I am sorry, Rachel, and I hope you'll let me make it up to you, however it is I can."

We descend into silence, and I focus on my relatively untouched food to buy myself time. I'm not all that hungry, and I suddenly wish Quinn were here. She would know what to say and do in this situation, and my fingers continually twitch with my desire to reach out to her, even though she's not here.

Eventually, I make the decision that may or may not come back to haunt me. "Okay."

"Excuse me?"

"Okay," I say with a nod. "Okay."

She smiles widely, and I'm glad she doesn't say anything more about it.

Well, she _does_ say this: "I think, maybe, New York is okay for me and Benji for a while," and I _really_ don't know what to do with that.

It's something.

* * *

It takes Quinn until ten o'clock to call me back after I sent her the longest message about my lunch with Shelby, my late afternoon spent missing her terribly and my desire to make her feel _good_. She's breathless when she gets on the phone, and I'm left to wonder why.

"You _better_ not be in the middle of a threesome," I tell her, trying to sound stern.

She laughs gloriously, and I miss her so, so much. "Nothing like that," she says. "It's just that I ran back to our room, so I can get as much time alone before San and Britt get back."

"Where are they?"

"In one of the other rooms," she says. "Coach gave us an eleven o'clock curfew, but we're all pretty exhausted after the long day of travel. So, after dinner, we just explored the hotel a little, and then the entire Squad congregated in Whitney, Amanda, Tiana and Bella's room. I just managed to make an escape. We probably have about a half hour of no interruptions."

"Half an hour, you say?"

She chuckles softly. "You've got a dirty, dirty mind," she says; "which is definitely one of the things I love about you."

"As you should."

"Though, I don't think I'll be a very attentive girlfriend if I don't ask you how you're really feeling about your lunch with Shelby?"

I sigh, carefully spreading out on the fresh sheets of my bed. "I think I'm still processing most of it," I admit. "She seemed sincere, so I'm willing to give her a chance. Is that terribly naive of me?"

"How would you feel if you _didn't_ give her a chance?"

"Not like myself."

"It's who you are, intrinsically, and I don't think it's naïve," she says. "Do I wish you were sometimes a bit more guarded with your heart? Yes. But, baby, this is why you have me, okay? I wouldn't dream of changing a thing about you, anyway."

I close my eyes, because this girl is capable of making me swoon even after all this time.

Which, when I really allow myself to think about it, hasn't been all that long. We haven't even been dating for five official months, but I honestly can't see myself with anyone else in this world. "I miss you," I say.

"I miss you, too," she automatically says, and then lets out a small laugh. "Though, I think you miss my body more, given your texts."

I laugh through a blush she can't see, thankfully. "After hearing what you said to Shelby, I wanted to reward you."

"Reward me?"

"And, what better way to do that than describing in startlingly clear detail just how I would _pleasure_ you were I with you right now."

Her breath hitches. "Ra - chel."

I know I've got her, just from the catch in her voice. We could do whatever we want, right now, and I reason we're probably going to have to get used to the intricacies of phone sex for the next few years. _Skype_ sex. It'll be something new in our physical relationship, which is always good, but I still hate the idea we're going to be apart for any amount time.

"Hi, baby," I murmur.

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"S and B could come back any minute."

"Then, we'd better be quick," I whisper.

"Oh, God."

I squirm in position, my own body heating up at the breathless quality to Quinn's voice. "Where are your hands?"

"My wha - "

I smile to myself. "Your hands, baby; where are they?"

"Uh," she says, clearly thinking hard about it. "One is, um, holding the phone, and the other - "

"Where is it, Quinn?"

"Where do you think it is?"

"Where, Quinn?"

"On my breast."

I suck in a breath because, okay, maybe we're not ready for something like this. But, then, my mouth asks, "Squeezing?"

"No."

"Do it."

The response I get is a soft moan, and I'm getting wetter by the second. " _Rachel_."

I squeeze my thighs together to keep a hold of myself. I'm trying to convince myself this is about Quinn, but the moaning hasn't stopped, and it's definitely not helping with my own arousal. It's physically painful resisting the urge to slip my hand under the waistband of my sweatpants and into my panties. "You sound so good," I find myself saying. "Touch your breast under your shirt."

There's a bit of ruffling, and then another, long-drawn moan that has me reaching for my own breast. I'm not wearing a bra, which amplifies the feeling on my already sensitive nipple. " _Oh_."

"Where are _your_ hands?" Quinn suddenly asks.

"Everywhere," I breathe.

"Oh, fuck." Her breathing ragged. "Baby, please."

"Please what?"

"I need - I need - "

"What do you need? Tell me what you need."

"Fuck," she hisses. "Can I - fuck, can I - "

I don't _really_ know what she's asking, but I still say, "Yes, baby, yes."

Her breathing changes immediately, and I groan at the mental image of what she's probably doing. We're both already hot from my words earlier, and I'm convinced this could end up being the quickest orgasm of my life if I just slipped my hand lower. I think I'd barely even have to touch myself to get off.

"Does that feel good?" I ask, because I honestly don't know what I'm supposed to say in this moment. It's all so new.

"Oh, fuck, yes."

As much as I want this to be about Quinn, I can't resist. Not when she's making those sounds right in my ear, practically _begging_ me for something. I don't even bother with any pleasantries as I unceremoniously shove my hand down my panties, my legs automatically spreading. "Oh, yes, baby."

"Ra - chel! Oh, my God! Are you - fuck - you are!"

I shut my eyes tightly, the fingers of my right hand slipping and sliding through the abundance of arousal between my legs. "Inside," I puff out.

"Oh, fuck, I can't - I'm about to - " she stops suddenly. "Oh, fuck, fuck," she hisses, and her tone of voice is different. She sounds... panicked. There's a heavy thud, some more swear words, and then silence.

I know I should be worried.

I _am_ , but all I can say is a drawn-out, " _Quinn_ ," before I'm coming. Hard. I keep my fingers moving to draw it out, but I eventually come down from my high, my brain kicking in to the fact that Quinn wasn't on the other end of the line for _my_ climax.

Once I've caught my breath, I remove my fingers and then get up to wash my hand in my bathroom. I need clean hands for when I call Quinn back... only to reach her voicemail. I'm about to try again when my phone buzzes with a message from her.

 _Quinn: S and B just caught me. I'm fucking mortified. Text you later. I love you :*_

I know I shouldn't find it funny, but I really do. I burst out laughing, which gets infinitely worse when Quinn sends through another text.

 _Quinn: Don't you dare laugh, Berry._

I double over with the intensity of my laughter, and I'm sure my dads would be running to discover who's trying to murder me if my room weren't sound-proofed.

 **Berry: I would never, though I'm glad that happened to you and not me (face it, it would be extremely worse to be caught here at home). I love you, too.**

If I thought _that_ made my night - besides the amazing orgasm - it's when Santana texts me that I know I've found the very people with whom I'm going to grow old.

 _ **Santana: Fucking hell, Berry. Your sex marathon wasn't enough? If I thought I was scarred before...**_

* * *

For the most part, I manage to keep busy enough not to miss Quinn _too much_.

Sunday is spent working on preparing for my upcoming solos, _and_ throwing in a few extra songs, in case we encounter some kind of disaster. It's why Mr Schuester - after some prodding from Quinn - made us pick through our various previous numbers to put together two other, emergency sets. It's obvious Quinn was using what she's learned from her time with the Cheerios to guide us to what resembles a National-winning team.

If anyone told me Sue Sylvester - via Quinn Fabray - would be partly responsible for ensuring our general preparedness, I would have called them insane.

But, alas, when we get to Glee on Monday, Quinn's influence is obvious. It's crunch time, and Mr Schuester is actually on time to the lesson for once. He gets us moving as soon as he gets to the Choir Room, and he looks like a man on a mission. I can't help smiling to myself, because it seems that Quinn has injected some level of fear in more than one - former or not - show choir director.

It just makes me miss her that bit more.

"Let's get to the auditorium, guys," he says. "We have to finalise and practice the routine without Quinn, Santana and Brittany."

Now, _that_ doesn't help with my mood at all, but Kurt grabs my hand to get me moving, and I'm just able to set aside my melancholy to focus my full attention on getting down the few new steps and spacing. It doesn't feel as complete or powerful without our three cheerleaders, but that's probably only because we know what it sounds and looks like _with_ them.

It doesn't help that, aside from Mike, they happen to be our best dancers.

We go over time, which none of us even complains about. I can feel the excitement in the air because, this time on Wednesday, we're going to be at the airport in Columbus, waiting to board our plane to New York. We're on one of the later flights, given our budget - Sugar offered to ask her father to splurge, but Mr Schuester politely declined - and we'll be spending our first night in New York at a random hotel before moving into our _actual_ hotel (Mr Schuester thought it didn't make sense to spend the extra money on an actual night at the _nice_ hotel, given that we're going to be checking in at around midnight).

For once, I think he did the right thing, and there's an actual part of me that wonders how much of an influence Quinn had on _that_ decision. With every new thing I learn about our upcoming trip to Illinois; so much more of it smells suspiciously like Quinn Fabray. I don't even know where she found the time to insert herself so heavily in the planning.

Where was I when all of this was happening?

"All right, guys," Mr Schuester finally says, calling an end to what has been a gruelling - somewhat emotional - rehearsal. "I expect you to go over the new steps tonight, and remember we have an extra practice tomorrow evening."

There's a bit of grumbling - perhaps it's our tired bodies.

Mr Schuester just laughs. "Yeah, yeah," he says; "I hope you've all started packing. Two days and counting!"

That gets the excitement up again, and Kurt and I do a little dance in the corner of the stage before he mentions that he has to run. He and Finn are having dinner out with their parents, as an almost farewell and good luck for Chicago, which I think is adorable. My dads are doing something similar tomorrow night, though my Daddy is choosing rather to cook for us. It's just safer to stay in.

It _is_ still Lima, Ohio.

I follow most of the other students as they leave the auditorium and head to the Choir Room to retrieve their belongings. The excitement is palpable, and it's seeping into my bones. I'm counting down the hours until we can finally take the stage and prove to the country - and ourselves - that we deserve the Title.

What's different from a year ago is that the other members actually say goodbye to me with genuine smiles when they leave, and Quinn's influence on my life hasn't been more apparent than in this moment. She's helped shape me the way she claims I've helped her.

She's proving to be one of the most important relationships I've ever had.

Speaking of.

I reach into my bag for my phone, because I just know I'm going to have a text from Quinn, and I can't help my grin when I realise I'm not wrong.

Not in the slightest, actually.

 _Quinn: Hi, baby :) After practice this morning, we had some free time, so we headed to the beach. (Santana's worried Britt's never going to want to leave. Did you know she can actually surf? Like WTF? When did that even happen?)_

 _Quinn: Anyway, I miss you, and I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you. Even when I'm beyond busy and dead tired, you're constantly on my mind._

I startle when my phone buzzes in my hand, another text lighting up our message thread.

 _Quinn: How hot do we look?_

I frown for a moment, but then a picture comes through, and I almost drop my phone. It fumbles in my hand, but I manage to steady it. Though, the same can't be said for my breathing, because this isn't the kind of picture one just sends without warning.

There might be three people in the photo, but I have eyes for only my blonde, who is standing between Santana and Brittany with the brightest smile on her face. She's wearing a dark green bikini that leaves absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination, and I can just imagine all the people who are probably ogling her right now. Her arms are around Santana and Brittany's shoulders in the picture, almost hanging off of them. They're all in their sunglasses, looking lighter than I've ever seen them, and I can't help the flash of jealousy I feel.

Before I know what I'm doing, my fingers reach out to touch my screen like the pathetic, idiotic, lovestruck teenager I am.

God, I miss her so much.

 **Berry: I think we should just accept that Brittany is always going to surprise us. It's just a thing that IS, at this point. Just accept it.**

 **Berry: I miss you, too. We went through the routine without you guys today, and it's made me a little sad. It's just not the same without you (YOU, Quinn).**

 **Berry: You do look hot. Who's the particularly sexy one in the middle?**

I barely have to wait a minute for a reply.

 _Quinn: Consider it accepted, oh wise one. (Britt says hi, by the way. Santana just flipped you off, because it's how she shows affection, apparently). OR... she's just a bitch, who knows?_

 _Quinn: Even though all I do is stand and sway in the background? (And, occasionally do a backflip if I'm lucky?)_

 _Quinn: In the middle, huh? Got a thing for blondes, Berry? Her name is Quinn - do you know her?_

This has the potential to turn into a conversation that definitely shouldn't be had at school, but getting home right now just seems like too much of a chore when I have Quinn _right here_.

 **Berry: Hi, Britt, and fuck you, Santana. (Two can play that game, apparently).**

 **Berry: Quinn, baby, do you really feel that way? Because, you have to know it's never been my intention (not recently, at least) to make anyone feel as if they don't play an integral part in the success of New Directions.**

 **Berry: That's the one. I won't even deny it; I like myself a blonde girl, though, I don't think I do know her, but she does look familiar.**

 _Quinn: I'm going to call you later, so we can have a proper conversation about all of this, okay?_

I pout. I want to talk to her now.

 **Berry: Okay.**

 _Quinn: Ouch. You may as well have said 'k,' and it would have hurt less._

 **Berry: Come back home!**

 _Quinn: I love you. Xx_

 _Quinn: Also, we may or may not have a little surprise for you. Check your email when you get home. (MAKE SURE YOU'RE AT HOME - IT'S FOR YOUR EYES AND EARS ONLY!)_

That definitely piques my interest, and I rush through gathering my things to head home, abandoning my intention to stay late for some extra practice. I can put in some additional hours later tonight if need's be, possibly after I talk to Quinn.

She's one of my motivations; my inspirations.

The house is quiet when I get home, which is not uncommon, but it still hasn't happened in a while. Because, even though my dads aren't around yet, Quinn usually is. The silence is almost too much to bear, and I immediately put on some music when I get up to my room. I set my bag on my bed, and then sit at my desk to check my email. Sure enough, I have an email from Quinn, attached with a video and the short caption of: _We wish you were here. Xx_

I waste no time in pressing play, sitting back and... staring slack-jawed as my girlfriend and her two best friends practically prance and twirl along the beach to the sound of _Malibu_ by Miley Cyrus. They're singing along at the top of their lungs; their laughter tangible and their happiness visible.

It's quite the performance, and I immediately watch it again, smiling goofily as Quinn starts them off with a coy little hip-shake and a dangerous, flirtatious smirk.

" _I never came to the beach, or stood by the ocean. I never sat by the shore, under the sun with my feet in the sand. But, you brought me here, and I'm happy that you did, 'cause now I'm as free as birds catching the wind_."

I want to close my eyes and listen to her voice, but I also want to _see_ her.

Santana takes over, her arms spread at her sides as she spins around in the sand. " _I always thought I would sink, so I never swam. I never went boatin', don't get how they are floatin'. And, sometimes, I get so scared of what I can't understand_."

They sing the chorus together, and I miss them so much that I feel tears spring to my eyes. " _But here I am, next to you. The sky's more blue, in Malibu. Next to you, in Malibu. Next to you_."

Brittany takes the next bit, and Santana and Quinn do perfect cartwheels in the background while she sings. " _We watched the sun go down as we were walking. I'd spent the rest of my life standing here talking. You would explain the current, as I just smile, hoping that you'll stay the same, and nothing will change, and it'll be us, just for a while_."

" _Do we even exist_?" Santana asks.

" _That's when I make the wish, to swim away with the fish_ ," Brittany answers.

" _Is it supposed to be this hot all summer long_?" Santana asks again, her eyes bright as she kneels in the sand and looks up at Brittany.

" _I never would've believed you if three years ago you told me I'd be here writing this song_."

Quinn gets them started on the chorus, and they jump and turn and kick sand at one another as they sing. " _But here I am, next to you. The sky's so blue, in Malibu. Next to you, in Malibu. Next to you."_

They jump and laugh and just have the best time of their lives, really. " _Aaaaaahhh,_ _aaahhhh, a_ _aaaaahhh,_ _aaahhhh,_ _next to you. The sky's so blue in Malibu, next to you_."

Quinn grows still for this part, her eyes focusing on the camera as if she's looking right at me. " _We are just like the waves that flow back and forth," she sings. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm drowning, and you're there to save me. And, I wanna thank you with all of my heart_."

" _It's a brand new start_ ," Santana yells, losing the pretence of singing.

" _A dream come true_ ," Brittany also shouts into the empty space around them.

They finish together, " _In Malibu_ ," and then immediately tackle one another to the ground, and effectively roll around in the sand for a full minute of Brittany and Quinn's laughter and Santana muttering obscenities.

It's probably the greatest thing I've ever seen.

After I watch the video for the third time, I reach for my phone to text Quinn.

 **Berry: So... about that threesome... got room for one more?**

 _Quinn: Hahahahahaha..._

 _Quinn: No._

 _Quinn: You're mine and only mine. I don't share._


	59. fifty-nine

**Chapter Fifty-Nine**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _being in love with my people does not mean i hate others.  
_ _how ridiculous is that._

 _._

Rachel and I don't get around to having our extended phone call until one of our rehearsal breaks on Tuesday, which happens to coincide with Rachel's lunch period. I've been forced to deal with crisis after crisis with regards to some of our cheerleaders suffering from food poisoning (why they were even eating at all, Coach Sylvester wants to know) and with regards to some girls cavorting with the enemy.

The drama is almost a cliché at this point, and it's exhausting.

There was even a cat fight last night that Santana and I were forced to break up (I have the scratches to prove it), and it resulted in a forced room assignment adjustment. I'm convinced I'm getting too old for this shit. Graduation literally can't come fast enough for me, and for all of us. The sooner we can all get out of Lima; the better.

The sooner I can let go of _this_ responsibility, the better. I'm sure I've lost years of my life being head cheerleader to _this_ Squad... under _this_ Coach.

Sure, I enjoy the _act_ of cheerleading, but I can't wait to be done with all the unnecessary politics that come with high school competition. I'm convinced things will be different at Yale - they _have_ to be - so I don't have long to go.

I head away from where the Squad is spreading out on the grass under some trees, my phone already in my hand as I dial Rachel's contact. It's been a busy morning, and I can't stop my smile when Rachel answers, sounding slightly distracted.

"Hi, baby."

I breathe out, just so relieved to hear her voice. "Hey, you," I say. "Everything okay? Are you busy?"

"Just give me a sec," she mumbles. There's the sound of a grunt, a slam, and then quick feet. After another slam, a breathless Rachel is back on the phone. "Sorry about that."

"What _was_ that?"

"I had to put something in my locker," she says. "It was heavier than I expected, and I wasn't yet in the Choir Room to accept your call."

"Oh," I murmur. "Uh, what was it?"

"Costumes," she says. "Believe me, I didn't know sequins weighed that much."

"But, we're not wearing sequins," I say, immediately indignant. "I made it expressly clear to Mr Schue that we were _not_ to blind the judges with the stereotype of being a show choir that wears _sequins_."

There's a moment of silence, and then she laughs. "You're cute."

"Please tell me you're joking," I say. "I made myself clear, and I - "

Rachel cuts in. "What else have you made clear to Mr Schue?"

I sputter. "What?"

Rachel clears her throat. "The man is too on the ball, Quinn," she says. "He practically _reeks_ of you."

"Uh, are you trying to say I smell bad?"

"Quinn," she sighs patiently. "Can you please stop trying to be coy? As adorable as it is, I know you talked to him, and I just - I want to - "

"Baby?"

"Thank you."

I suck in a breath. "Rach," I start; "I love you, and I want this Nationals to go well for you. I wasn't going to let Mr Schue's inability to be organised do anything to ruin it, okay? I know I didn't really discuss it with you, but I didn't want to distract you with - "

"Quinn, I'm not mad," she says, interrupting. "I just - I really miss you, and I wish I could hug you and kiss you and tell you how grateful I am that you're in my life."

"So, really, you just miss my body?"

Rachel laughs in my ear. "I _do_ miss your body," she admits; "But I miss other things more."

"Like?"

"Seeing your smile," she immediately says. "Hearing your laugh. Just, knowing you're _here_ with me."

"I love you," I say into our silence. "I am so in love with you."

"Quinn?"

"Yes?"

"Is this what it's always going to be like?"

I sigh. "Yes," I say, because I can't lie to her. The separation is going to be difficult, but we're both going to be doing what we love, and that means something, right? It will make it worth it in the end, and then we'll get to be together _together_. These are all things I want to say to Rachel, but placating her isn't an option at the moment.

She already knows everything.

We both do.

"Okay," she relents. Then, switching topics, she says, "You know I appreciate you, right? I appreciate your talent and your presence, and I never want you to feel as if you're unimportant, because you are. You are so, so important, Quinn, to me, to my dads, to this Club, to this school, and to this world. Please don't think anything else."

I audibly swallow, feeling heat rise up my neck from slight embarrassment that she even feels it's necessary to tell me all these things. "I - I know I just make up the numbers, Rachel," I say. "Sometimes, I'm okay with it and, other times, I'm not. It's just how it is, and I'm fine, really." I take a breath. "In Glee Club, _you_ shine, and that means everything to me, okay? With the Cheerios, I'm front and centre. I just needed a moment to gain some perspective."

"Quinn?"

"It's fine," I assure her. "I know, okay? I _know_."

"What do you know?"

"Everything."

She sighs. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," I say on an exhale, suddenly knowing these are going to be some of the most frequently said words between us in the upcoming years. For the umpteenth time, I start to reconsider my desire to put us through the separation just to attend Yale. I know it's the best thing for _me_ , but I can't conjure up the same feelings when I think about _us_.

To be honest, I can't help feeling guilty about it. It doesn't help that Rachel is so obviously against the idea of being apart, but giving in now would just be... wouldn't it set some kind of precedent? If I give an inch, and all that.

I clear my throat. "How did rehearsals go this morning?"

" _God_."

I laugh lightly. "That good, huh?"

"I don't remember ever wanting to cause as much bodily harm as I currently want to," she says. "I'm not a violent person, Quinn, but it's come to my attention - for, like, the hundredth time - that you play a very important part in keeping people in line."

"It's all Santana," I automatically say.

"Don't sell yourself short, baby," she counters immediately. "I just shudder to think how much worse it would be if we weren't even a little bit serious about preparing for Nationals. I mean, it's eons better than where we were last year."

"Because we actually have a plan this time?" I snark, almost playfully.

"You're funny."

"I try to be."

She sighs. "How are things on your side?" she asks. "How are you feeling about tomorrow? Do you know what time you're performing?"

I glance over my shoulder at where my Squad has congregated, all of them spread out and soaking up the sun. As much stress as they like to give me, I do love them.

Sometimes.

Most of the time.

I can accept that I'm going to miss them when I finally leave McKinley, but it's definitely time to go. It's been time for a while, now. "Things are okay, I guess," I say, turning back to face away from them. "We've just finished running through all our various routines, ensuring their perfection."

"How many do you have?"

"Four are completely ready for competition, and the rest could be pulled together if they're needed," I tell her. "Coach knows which one she wants us to perform in the Finals on Thursday, so it's a bit of a tossup to see which one we'll perform tomorrow."

"Your confidence is sexy."

I laugh softly. "So, I guess I'm feeling okay about tomorrow," I say. "We don't have an exact time, but we got drawn in the second group, so it should be some time after lunch. They'll make the announcement then, I guess."

"Will you let me know the exact time when you know for sure, so we can live stream it here?" she asks. "It sucks that I can't come support you myself, but I still want to be able to say I watched the Cheerios take the Nationals' Title for, like, the billionth time."

"This'll be my third one."

"Yale is going to be tripping over themselves to get you straight into the Squad," she says with a light laugh. "God, you're going to take them by storm, aren't you?"

"I don't know about that."

"You're a natural leader, Quinn," she says. "Even when you don't _try_ ; there's something about you that just _commands_ , and it's something people can just sense."

"That sounds unnerving."

"It can be, sometimes," she admits. "But it makes for great sex."

"Oh, my God, does your head just constantly live in the gutter?"

"Fabray," she chides softly. "My girlfriend is fucking hot. What do you expect?"

"I feel as if I'm dealing with a mix between Puck and San right now," I say, tilting my head back and squinting at the sun. My smile is blinding and, God, I am so in love. It's this feeling that keeps permeating throughout my body, growing and expanding from within. I can't feasibly see myself finding anyone I could be happier with, and I never even want to consider a life without her.

"Well, Quinn, I think it's very important for people who are in love and are fully committed to each other the way we are to maintain a healthy sexual relationship, in order to bolster - "

" _And_ , you're back to sounding like Rachel," I gently interrupt.

"That's not very nice," she huffs.

"I love you."

"You're lucky _I_ love _you_."

"And, I remind myself of that every single day."

She sighs dreamily. "I'm never going to win with you, am I?"

"Well, I feel as if I'm constantly winning at life every day I'm with you."

She lets out another long breath. "You are far too good at this," she murmurs. "Do you have a list of swoon-worthy things written down somewhere, because I can honestly feel myself falling even more in love with you with every word you say?"

"You've uncovered my deepest, darkest secret," I joke.

She's quiet for a moment. "Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"I was... unsure, before, if I would really be able to do this."

"What?"

" _This_."

I swallow audibly, just waiting.

"But, I think I can," she says. "I'm not going to like it, but a two-hour train ride is far better than what we're doing right now, so I think I can do it."

My grin practically splits my face. "That's the attitude."

"Shut up," she grouses.

"Thank you, Rachel."

"I'm sorry I've been such a brat about it," she says. "I'm working on it."

I want to give her a bit of respite, so I say, "I know the _real_ reason you want me with you, you know?"

"Oh?"

"Who's going to cook for you?"

She laughs gloriously, and I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from telling her how much I miss her again. "I'll have you know I would be just fine."

"Oh?"

"Maybe," she allows. "Probably. I'm fine _today_ , and you're not here."

I shift my weight from my left foot to my right. "What are you having for lunch, anyway?"

"A smoothie," she says.

"What's in it?"

"Uh, let's see," she muses; "Kiwis and strawberries and mangoes... and some other things, I guess." She's quiet for a moment. "Daddy made it."

"Thought so."

"Shut up."

"Regardless of who made it, it sounds good," I comment.

"It is."

"I hope it's going down as well as I do."

It takes her a moment, but then she gasps when it clicks, and then squeaks out a surprised " _Quinn_!"

I laugh out loud, suddenly missing her like crazy. "You miss me," I murmur.

"So, so much."

I really want to reach through the phone and touch her. "Think you can survive the next few days without me?"

"It'll be a struggle," she says. "But, I should probably get going. I have to get my things from my locker, and Mr Pince is in such a _mood_ now that we're so close to leaving this place."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she says. "I'll call you tonight, okay? You can help me decide which outfits to pack and, for all we know, you could need a stress reliever before tomorrow."

I let out a laugh. "Oh, and you think that's you?"

"It better be me," she says. "Don't let San or Britt anywhere near you."

"I'll fight them off," I tell her.

"I really have to go."

"Okay," I sigh. "Bye, baby."

"Later."

My heart hurts a little as I drop the phone to my side, frowning slightly at the melancholy that settles over me. Is this what it's always going to like when we're at college? I don't think I'm going to be able to handle being apart from her for days at a time.

Maybe I could be a commuter.

I almost laugh at the thought, because that's just -

Just, no.

She says she thinks she can do it, and I believe her.

If she can, then I can, too.

"Quinn?"

I startle at the voice coming from behind me, spinning around and putting on my best HBIC expression when faced with a freshman Cheerio. How dare she sneak up on me? And, God, how much of my conversation did she hear?

Kitty Wilde steps back slightly at the look on my face, and I try to school my features as my heart attempts to slow. "Sorry," she says, glancing away nervously. "I didn't mean to scare you."

I sigh. "It's okay," I say, even though it's not really. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

The girl, who Coach Sylvester has pinned as my successor - well, she's now Brittany's successor - looks uncharacteristically nervous as she stands in front of me. She nibbles at her bottom lip, and she looks so much like the fifteen-year-old I know she is. I think Coach sees the same thing in her that she sees in me, and that's why she's picked her.

I've tried to show her the ropes as best I can these past few months. Being Head Cheerleader requires more than one would think. It's a lot of Squad management, which is probably the worst part of the job. The popularity is a nice perk, sure, but it comes with its own problems.

"Nothing's... wrong," Kitty eventually says. She lets out a deep sigh. "Just... well, do you think we're going to win?"

I know what my answer should be - _of course, we're going to win_ \- but I get the feeling the girl wants the truth. "I hope so," I say. "We've got some amazing routines, and our Squad is actually really good this year, even if half of them are puking out their guts or scratching at one another's eyes at the moment."

She offers me a ghost of a smile.

"The truth is I _can't_ know," I say. "We're going to give it our best, and see what happens." I chuckle lightly. "But, if Britt asks, we're definitely winning."

Her smile widens. "Noted."

I wait patiently, sensing there's something very specific she wants to say to me.

Or, ask me, apparently.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I would have been ready?"

I blink in confusion, and then nod when I realise she's asking me about the position of Head Cheerleader. "Maybe," I say. "It's kind of a baptism by fire, at any age. I was a Sophomore when I was appointed." I press my lips together, because I didn't actually manage to hold onto the position for all that long before I fell pregnant. "But, I guess I really made it my own in my junior year," I add. "Maybe the extra year will do you well."

She looks a bit disbelieving.

"I know it doesn't seem it, but you can learn a lot from Brittany."

"Because she learnt a lot from you?"

I laugh. "Something like that, yeah." I roll my eyes. "Believe me when I say you don't want the responsibility so soon, anyway. You're going to become Coach's little bitch, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Kitty's eyes widen comically. "Do you hate it that much?"

My gaze drifts to the side for a moment. "Sometimes," I admit. "I used to hate it a lot more _before_." I don't know if she knows what I'm talking about - she _is_ only a freshman - but I'm not going to bring up my pregnancy unnecessarily. "The position - it makes it difficult not to give into its expectations. It almost demands that you wield its power; forces you into being a person you're not. It can make you cruel and unfeeling, deluding yourself into thinking being the 'Prom Queen' is everything, when it's really not." I sigh. "I think it's important for everyone to learn that on their own, but I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did."

She looks momentarily confused. "But, you're not like that," she points out.

" _Anymore_ ," I finish. "I was, for a while, but I've managed to turn it around. Sort of."

"Because of Rachel Berry?"

I force myself not to react. "What do you mean?"

Kitty blushes slightly. "I guess, well, I heard stories about how you used to treat her," she starts; "but she's, like, your best friend now."

I nod once. "She is, yeah," I confirm. "I wouldn't really credit her with my transformation - God knows she'd get _way_ too much satisfaction from it - but she's a part of it, yes. She's a... recipient of it, as it were. I really wasn't nice to many people until, well, I hit about as rock bottom as one can get. You learn a lot about yourself and about who really _cares_ when you have nothing." It's the most candid I've been with anyone not in my immediate circle, and I think we're both surprised by it.

Kitty shifts her weight. "I - I have a friend," she says quietly. "At least, I think we're friends. I'm not sure. Sometimes, I - I force myself to be mean to her in front of other people because she's not exactly... popular."

I nod in both sympathy and understanding. "I've been there," I say, walking towards her. "It's not an easy thing."

"I hate it."

"Look," I say, breathing out; "I can't tell you what to do because, like I said, these are things you're probably going to have to learn through your own experiences. But, I will ask you this: do you _like_ yourself?"

Kitty frowns, clearly confused by the question. "What do you mean?"

Maybe this is too profound for her, at this stage of her life, but I really want her to turn out better than me. She deserves the chance. "When you're mean to that girl, and all those people laugh and congratulate you; do you like who you are?"

Kitty's bottom lip trembles. "No," she answers softly.

"I don't want that for you," I say, and I mean it. "So, I want you to think about that the next time those hurtful words want to leave your mouth, okay? It's not worth it; believe me."

And, the thing is, I think she really does.

* * *

"I'm fucking exhausted."

I'm a little too tired even to repeat Santana's sentiment, and Brittany's already passed out from the exertions of the day. Coach Sylvester caught something amiss in one of our routines, and she had us perform it from top to bottom until she deemed it perfect, and all my muscles _hurt_. Sex marathons have nothing on the ache in my body right now.

I think it's safe to say _that's_ the routine we're performing tomorrow.

Nobody would dream of messing it up now, because I genuinely think we'll end up floating facedown in the ocean if we do. If Coach Sylvester doesn't get them first, then I surely will. We have not suffered through the 'Sue Sylvester Special' not to come out on top.

"I think that's what I'm looking forward to the most," Santana says, and I roll onto my side to look at her where she's lying on the bed she's sharing with Brittany.

"What?" I ask, curling up slightly and slipping my hands between my pillow and the side of my head.

"Not being exhausted all the fucking time," she says, stretching her lithe body.

I chuckle. "San, you intend to tackle _Pre-Med_ ," I point out; "I think it's safe to say you're going to be exhausted for the rest of your life."

" _Fuck_."

I close my eyes, sighing softly. "I think it'll be worth it in the end," I tell her, almost whispering. "It's going to be difficult at times, and you're probably going to hate it at numerous points, but you're going to become Dr Lopez... _Junior_ , and you're going to save lives."

She waits a beat. "You're not even going to make a crack about my potential bedside manner?"

I can't help my smile. "I think you'll be able to be professional when it's required," I let her know. "I - I believe in you, Santana."

"You're not going to start crying on me, are you?"

I lie silently, keeping my eyes closed the entire time. "Tomorrow, we perform as Cheerios for the second last time, ever," I say. "I'm sorry if that makes me emotional."

"God, your hormones are out of whack," she mutters; "you sure you're not pregnant? With all the sex you've been having, you and Berry could totally defy physics and make it happen."

I blush a bright, bright red at the sound of that, and I'm suddenly thankful for the darkness of our room.

"I think, if you two were more _open_ about your exploits, you'd probably be giving B and I a run for our money."

And, _that_ isn't helping with the red in my cheeks. "It wasn't like this with Finn," I say, my tone soft.

"Because he's terrible in bed?"

I laugh. "It's not really that," I say, even though Finn's skills _definitely_ don't compare to Rachel's. "I think whatever physical relationship we were going to have after Beth was always going to be... different. I think, if I'm going to diagnose myself, that I was always worried it would happen again." I press my lips together. "Besides the fact I was pedantic about staying on the pill and we always used a condom; I could never get out of my head long enough to... enjoy it."

"And, now you don't have those worries with Berry," she concludes. "One of the perks of two ladies loving on each other: no chances of making a baby."

"I guess it's allowed me to be freer," I say. "Everything is just so much more satisfying with Rachel."

"It probably helps that you're in love with her."

I sigh, and then I ask the question. "Are you going to be okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"About Britt, S," I say.

Her breath catches in the dark. "Quinn," she breathes, and her voice sounds a little strangled. "I - I don't - "

My eyes open, and I reach across the space between the two beds with my left hand. "San," I whisper.

She takes my hand. "I just - I love her _so much_."

"I know."

"I don't want it to be over."

"I know," I say sadly, because I can't even think to put myself in her position. God, I don't know what we would even do if either Rachel or I was going to have to be in Lima without the other. It's a sentence worse than anything else, I think, and I'm so relieved we're getting out at the same time. New Haven and New York are considerably closer to each other than either city is to Lima, Ohio.

At least the New Haven in _Connecticut_ is.

Santana squeezes my hand.

"It's one year," I say. "I know you won't be together for that time, and it's going to be hard on you both, but it's one year, and then she'll be in New York with you, and you can start your official, adult lives together."

She chuckles wetly. "I'm already a fucking adult, Fabray," she grumbles, retreating to her comfort zone of general snark and bitchiness.

"You keep telling yourself that."

We settle into comfortable silence, our hands still clasped. It's probably the most physical affection the two of us can handle with each other. It's different for me with Rachel, and it's different for her with Brittany. The two of us might love each other fiercely, but this is a different love.

It's not the kind that terrifies us both.

"Am I allowed to tell you I wish you were coming to New York with us?" Santana asks, breaking the silence.

"You're allowed," I offer.

"I wish you were coming to New York with us," she says, punctuating her words with a squeeze to my hand. "It would be so much better with you there."

"I think you're going to be just fine," I say.

She sighs. "Am I even going to get to see you?"

"Of course."

"Be serious, Q," she says. "When you visit New York, you're going to be visiting your girl."

I lick my lips. "That will probably be true," I say, because I'm not going to deny it. There's no way in hell I would go all the way to New York and not see my girlfriend. "But, that doesn't mean I won't see you, sometimes. For like a coffee, maybe. Or a quick hotdog while we stand on the sidewalk."

She laughs. "It's going to be difficult to get you to detach yourself from her, huh?"

"It'll be a struggle, definitely."

She's quiet for a moment. Then: "You know, I get that I don't say this enough, but I really am happy for you, Q. And proud, I guess." She pauses. "I was worried."

"Yeah?"

"You don't know how to allow yourself to be happy," she says. "I was worried you would let all your fears get in the way of what has been the best thing to happen to you."

"I almost did," I confess. "Numerous times."

"But, you're holding on now?"

"As tightly as humanly possible," I tell her. "I might as well have asked her to marry me with the way we've been going on."

"Dude," she says. "We _do not_ get married in high school."

"Oh, I know," I say. "But, I guess, we _promise_ to... get engaged, as it were."

"So fucking cheesy."

"I want her for forever, San," I say, and I don't think I've ever sounded so serious in my life, and I once told my sixteen year old boyfriend I was pregnant. "I can't even imagine a life where I don't get to call her mine."

"God, who knew you were such a sap?"

I'm not even embarrassed about it, because how can I be? I'll take Santana's teasing any day if it means I get to be this person I am; this person who's the best version I've ever been.

"Hey, San?"

"Hmm?"

"It's going to be okay, you know?"

She squeezes my hand, and then releases it slowly. "Dude, I can't handle this dopey shit for extended periods. Get it together, Fabray."

I make a smooching sound, knowing it'll irritate her. "I love you, San."

There's silence for the longest time and, just when I think she's fallen asleep, I hear a very soft, "Love you, too."

* * *

I wake to the feel of a body falling onto me and, after the split second of pure panic, I relax at the knowledge it's just Brittany.

Her face moves into view eventually, and she says, "Time to wake up, Sleepyhead."

I groan, just because I can, and it gets a bright smile out of her.

"San's in the shower," she says. "We have to be at breakfast in - " she pauses to do a quick calculation " - forty-two minutes."

I just grin up at her, and then laugh when she presses a slobbery kiss to my cheek. "I'm up, I'm up, you can stop squishing me," I say.

She eventually rolls off me, and I manage to get myself out of bed without any more complaints. Brittany is already ready and dressed, and all she has to do is tie up her hair. I quickly gather my clothes that I set out the night before and ready my toiletry bag, so I can go into the bathroom the second Santana comes out.

It takes three more minutes for the water of the shower to switch off, and then another two for Santana to come out dressed in her towel.

"You're up," she says, looking surprised.

"Yip."

"Get steppin', Fabray," she says. "We're not waiting around for your tight ass."

I roll my eyes, and then disappear into the bathroom. I'm not feeling nervous, not really, but there's a part of me that can't help but accept the importance of today and this _moment_ in my life. I'm here, in Malibu, with two of my best friends, and we're about to go on national television in an attempt to be crowned the best cheerleading squad in the country.

That I, apparently, lead.

Well.

Okay.

 _Way to make yourself nervous, Fabray_.

I take a moment, and then focus on getting myself ready. We'll do our performance makeup at the venue, because we've got a lot of morning to get through before we take the floor. Coach Sylvester wants us front and centre throughout the entire event, ready in our uniforms and looking as intimidating as ever. She intends to throw our competition off their game, and we're very capable of doing it.

We have Santana Lopez, after all.

It takes me twenty minutes to get ready, and then another five to wrangle Santana into putting on her shoes, so we can go to the restaurant for breakfast. We're going to need all the nutrition we can get in order to make it through this day and come out victorious.

Well, we just need to make it into the top ten first, and then we can take the stage again tomorrow to show them what we're really capable of.

But, I guess, we'll just take it one day and a time.

It's what Rachel says, at least, when I finally get to check my phone to find several texts from her.

 **Berry: Good morning, baby :) Today is the first of many big days coming your way, so I hope you slept well. I just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking about you this morning (all the time, really.) Good luck, and I'll be watching for you when you take the stage (or is it mats? Floor? I don't know.)**

 **Berry: Also, I miss you SO much. I had a dream about us last night. We were in New York. It was kind of like our last morning together (your hopping around searching for your clothes and swearing like a sailor because you were late), and it made me think about what our lives are going to be like in the future. I have all these thoughts of spending evenings with you in my dorm room, just BEING. (And, probably, having sex when my roommate isn't around.)**

 **Berry: We've already survived so much, together and by ourselves, so I have no doubt in my mind we're going to be able to get through anything and everything that life throws at us for the rest of our days. We're just going to take it one day at a time, baby, and the rest will just work itself out. I believe in you the way you believe in me, and I can't wait to kiss my Nationals' Title winning girlfriend when we're both finally in Chicago.**

 **Berry: It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?**

My heart hurts with how much I miss her. I just want to touch her and hold her and kiss her, but she's all the way in Ohio, and I'm here.

 _Here_.

"Hello," Santana says, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Earth to Fabray."

I shake off my melancholy and look at her. "What's up?"

She eyes me critically, and then says, "Be here."

"What?"

"Be here, Quinn," she says. "We have two days to take this country by storm, and how are you supposed to be our fearless leader if you're constantly pining for your girlfriend who you're going to see in literally two days?"

I feel my irritation to spike, and I want to question her about how she would be feeling if Brittany wasn't here, but the words don't come. We both know she's right. This is our moment. It's _my_ moment, and I would do well to _be here_.

I sigh.

Santana smiles knowingly. "God, you're pathetic."

I don't even have the will to deny it.

* * *

When lunch rolls around, I have to force myself, and everyone else, to eat something. My stomach is churning, and I've successfully managed to freak myself out about our upcoming performance. I wasn't this nervous last year, and I absently wonder why it's hitting me now. I'm genuinely worried my lunch is going to come back up, and the steady stream of texts I've been exchanging with Rachel isn't helping.

I'm feeling the weight of this moment.

It's probably because it's the last time - well, second last time - I lead my Squad, and the pressure is even higher. Not only are we defending champions, but we're officially dubbed the team to beat.

 _I'm_ the captain to beat, and that comes with its own problems.

For the most part, _I_ 've managed to avoid all unnecessary politics and all kinds of conflict when it comes to other Squads, even if my cheerleaders haven't. The other Squads don't know that we're Sylvester-trained. There is next to nothing they can say or do to us that would ruffle our feathers.

Except, well, this:

"I swear, you just get hotter and hotter every time I see you."

At first, I don't register the voice, because _nobody_ would say that to me. I barely flinch, my eyes facing forward as nearly hundreds of cheerleader attempt to get themselves some food before the start of the afternoon session. It means we're up soon, and I don't need any distractions, so I turn on my HBIC mode when I feel a tap on my shoulder and spin to see Zoey Madison, Head Cheerleader of the Supersonics from Kentucky, beaming at me.

I internally sigh, and then glance over her shoulder in search of any members of my Squad, hoping one of them will come save me.

No such luck.

"Hello, Madison," I say.

"Enough of that, Fabray," she says, _tsking_. "I told you to call me Zoey."

"Zoey," I say. "Hello."

The girl, who is blonder than I am, looks me up and down, and I have a particular flashback to the last time we met. She gave me the same appraisal, but I definitely wasn't aware of what it meant until, well, now.

Oh.

I almost laugh.

"So..." Zoey drawls. "Think you're going to win?"

"That's the plan."

She cocks her left hip to the side, fist resting there. "Well, we all have our plans," she says; "and, yet, they don't end up working out."

She's laying the bait, and I bite. "What plans are these?" I ask.

She sighs dramatically. "Are you still dating that oaf of a boyfriend you were last year?"

To be honest, I don't anticipate the mention of Finn, who I decidedly haven't even _looked_ at since that day in his bedroom, and it catches me slightly off guard. "No," I tell her.

"Oh, thank God!" She really is dramatic, even gasping for added effect. "I'm so glad you finally got it together and dumped the idiot."

My face must give something away, because she leans forward.

"No?" she gasps again - oh so dramatically. "He really _is_ an idiot if he let go of _you_."

I almost facepalm, because I honestly don't know how I get myself into these situations. "I'll be sure to tell him that," I say.

"Does that mean you're single?" she asks. But, before I can respond, she answers her own question. "Who am I kidding? Somebody _definitely_ scooped you up immediately. Nobody even stood a chance. Am I right or am I right?"

I do laugh this time, because the truth of that is almost too much for me. I belonged to Rachel the moment she took my crying form into her arms for the first time. I was pretty much done for from that moment on, and now look where we are. "That's kind of exactly how it happened," I tell her.

"Damn," she says. "I was hoping for a chance, Miss Quinn. Why can't you just give us lowly folk a _chance_?"

I shake my head, thoroughly amused. "You don't want me," I say.

"Oh, but I do," she immediately counters. "A pretty girl like you... _everybody_ wants." She trails eyes back down my body, lingering at various places, and I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about it. For the most part, it feels slightly different to when a boy does it, and it's probably the one change I've experienced since my sexuality came to light. With boys, I feel a sense of revulsion and, with girls, well, I don't.

It does still make me uncomfortable, though, and I shift my weight from my left foot to my right.

"You _sure_ you're taken?" Zoey asks, almost purring as she steps into my space. "Because... _I definitely want_."

I've never been hit on this... aggressively - people are generally too scared of me to come on too strongly - and I really don't know how to handle it without, well, drawing on the HBIC. I can be nice when I want to be, but I somehow have to make myself clear that this isn't okay, and I really don't -

"Fabray!"

 _Oh, thank God_.

My head snaps up, my eyes immediately finding my Coach's. I've literally never been more relieved to see her in my entire life.

"Let's get going!" the woman yells.

I glance at Zoey. "Duty calls," I say, and then take off.

"I'll find you, Miss Quinn," she calls out after me, but I'm trying not to focus on that. We have a trophy to win, and I really can't let my inability to thwart a girl's advances affect that. She might think it'll work, but she obviously doesn't know me.

Or Santana Lopez.

"Get your shit together, Fabray!"

I meet her gaze. "Are you going to slap me?"

"Do you need it?"

"I think so," I mutter, scowling slightly. Then: "No."

"Dammit."

"You would enjoy it far too much."

"I really would."

I straighten my spine and set my jaw. "It's supposed to be fun," I say. "Why isn't it more _fun_?"

"It'll be fun when we win," Santana says, getting right up in my face. "Seriously. Do you need a slap or what?"

I laugh, but immediately shake my head.

"Do you need Berry?"

I close my eyes. "I wish I didn't."

"Fuck," Santana grouses, and then reaches for her phone, immediately dialling Rachel's number. "Yo, Bitch," she says into the phone. "Your girl is losing it." She huffs in annoyance. "What? Don't put this on me. I told you - fuck you, too, Berry." She hands me the phone, and then turns away, muttering obscenities under her breath.

I frown at the exchange, and bring the phone to my ear. "Hey."

"Quinn, what's going on?" Rachel asks, her voice rushed.

"Uh, nothing."

"Why does Santana think you're losing it?" she questions. "Are you losing it? Did you eat enough? Drink enough? Quinn, are you not - "

"I'm fine," I say. "I just - I needed to hear your voice."

"Oh?"

I hum.

"Well, this is my voice," she says. "Is it helping? Would you rather I sing? I can sing. Will that help?"

"No," I gently say. "I just needed to hear your voice. I'm okay, now."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Oh, okay then."

I take in a deep breath, and then release it slowly. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Santana may as well be frothing at the mouth when I hand her phone back to her, and I can't help my smile. "If I thought you were pathetic before," she mutters.

I pull her into an unexpected hug. "San?"

"What?" she snaps.

"Now, we can go win this thing."

"Damn straight, Fabray," she says, squirming to get away. "I'm not putting up with your emotional bullshit not to leave this place with a fucking trophy."

She's one of many I intend _not_ to let down.


	60. sixty

**Chapter Sixty**

.

 **Rachel**

.

 _i will tell you, my daughter of your worth not your beauty every day.  
(your beauty is a given. every being is born beautiful).  
knowing your worth can save your life.  
raising you on beauty alone you will be starved.  
you will be raw. you will be weak. an easy stomach.  
always in need of someone telling you how beautiful you are._

 _._

"What time are they going on again?"

I check my watch at the sound of Mercedes' question. "She said they were drawn fifth on the afternoon roster, so it should be within the next half hour."

Noah groans. "I never thought I would ever say these words, but I am so sick of watching girls in short skirts twirl around."

I can't help my laugh, and everyone joins in moments later. We're gathered in the Choir Room, Artie having procured a projector for us to stream the Cheerleading Nationals and watch it on the wall. We have just about enough time to watch our teammates perform, get home for some final packing and collect our luggage, before we have to be back at school to meet Mr Schuester for the bus ride to the Columbus.

"I love that they do the little bios on the teams," Tina says from her position on Mike's lap. "It's cool to learn about them."

Sam agrees with her, and several others nod their heads. I absently wonder if it'll be the same for the Show Choir Nationals. I know the event is going to be televised, but I don't remember if they had any interviews the previous year. Maybe they only do the top performers, which would explain why no cameras came near us.

It's going to be different this year.

I'm sure of it.

For the umpteenth time, I check my phone. I'm a little worried after my call from Santana... and Quinn. It's unlike her to be so out of sorts about this kind of thing, and I really hope she can pull it together in time. She'll be so mad at herself if she lets anything affect her performance, and I really don't want that for her.

Or myself, for that matter, because _that's_ the Quinn with which I'm going to have to deal.

"Ooh, that's them," Sugar exclaims when the commentators start talking about the Cheerios, the number one ranked Squad in the country. I can't help the pride that bubbles in my chest when they start playing the brief segment about the Squad from William McKinley High School in Ohio, led by the formidable Sue Sylvester, captained by Senior Quinn Fabray and defending champions. My heart does a little jolt when they show a clip of Quinn barking orders at her practicing team, and I'm not the only one who smiles at the HBIC coming out to play.

"Power-Quinn is so fucking sexy," Noah comments, and I resist the urge to throw something at him. Kurt places a hand on my knee, and I glance at him, feeling relieved by his amused smile.

"Hey," Finn says belatedly, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

Blaine laughs. "Yeah, don't talk about her like that, Noah," he says, sending a wink Rachel's way, and then innocently smiling when Finn glares at him. He seems to be having far too much fun playing on Finn's continued assumption that Blaine actually has a thing for Quinn.

Honestly, I don't see how everybody in the world _doesn't_ have a crush on Quinn.

She's about as crush-worthy as they come.

"Oh, my God," Mercedes says; "look at them."

My attention is very clearly on the moving pictures in front of me, and my heart is suddenly racing at the sight of Quinn moving into position at the front of the amassed group of girls. She raises her right fist when they're all in position, and I don't even realise I'm holding my breath.

For the most part, I think I handle myself well. Watching Quinn tumble and jump, and then fly through the air is probably less scary watching it on a screen than it is watching it live. Still, my fingers dig into Kurt's forearm, and he has to pry them off when the music for the routine changes from a remix of _Youngblood_ by 5 Seconds of Summer to another remix of _Feel It Still_ by Portugal. The Man.

"Whoa," Mike says, when the girls on stage - I think it's a stage, because Quinn never really did say - do this intricate dance sequence that sees several flyers explode out of a central huddle, like some kind of blooming rose.

"Are they even human?" Artie asks, his eyes wide as the music builds to what is bound to be the climax of the highly-energised routine. It's been sheer perfection, everything completely in sync and not a step out of place. Even their smiles haven't slipped. It's obvious they've been practicing for hours and hours, and I can only marvel at the way Quinn still manages to stand out in a group of girls who are all wearing the same red, white and black.

"How could they possibly top that?" Tina asks, referring to the same move that has both Mike and Artie stumped.

My eyes aren't the only one's that grow wide as the Squad begins to assemble a _standing_ pyramid. I actually gasp out loud when Quinn is flung up onto Santana and another girl, Rosalie's shoulders. At first, I find it odd that Brittany isn't up there, but I realise quickly that the two cheerleaders on the second level have to be the same height.

When Quinn rises onto her feet, carefully keeping her balance - I can _see_ how tightly her core muscles are clenched - the world seems to stop. Again, I can only imagine what it must be like to see it happening right in front of you, but even this is amazing.

There's a little wobble as Quinn lifts her arm into a pose, and then holds it for three beats of the music. Then, just when the chorus hits, Quinn's blinding smile takes over her face, and then she leaps - honest to God _leaps_ \- forward and into a series of tucked somersaults. I actually yelp when Quinn is caught by two male, competition-approved spotters (because, apparently, high school girls aren't trusted with this kind of move).

It's only when Quinn is safely back on the ground, standing on her own two feet and shimmying to the last beats of the song that I realise I've bitten the inside of my right cheek hard enough to draw blood.

"Holy fucking shit," Noah concludes when the routine suddenly ends with all the cheerleaders with their fists in the air and their hips cocked to the side. "Like, seriously, what the fuck? How did - that wasn't - just, how?"

"I'm telling you," Artie says, shaking his head in disbelief; "not human."

We listen as the commentators critique the performance. Well, they desperately try to, anyway, but there's very little they can fault of the performance, and they're practically guaranteed to make it to the second round.

"Wait," Sugar says. "There are _two_ rounds?"

I nod. "Top ten perform again tomorrow," I tell her.

"You mean, they have another routine that could possibly top that one?"

Frankly, I don't see how that's possible, but it must be. Quinn would definitely leave the best for last, and I'm suddenly eager to see what they've managed to come up with. "They do," I say.

"That's intense," Lauren says.

When they move on to the next Squad, I get to my feet and move to stand in front of my gathered Club mates while Noah and Artie switch off the live feed. "Okay," I say. "We can congratulate our team mates later but, right now, we have to make sure we have everything ready for the trip to _our_ Nationals."

There's a small whoop from Noah, and a happy laugh from everyone else.

"Tina, Lauren and Sugar have a handle on the costumes, correct?"

Tina nods. "Most of them are going in Mike's suitcase," she says.

"And Rory's," Sugar adds.

The Irish boy frowns. "I wasn't told about that."

I leave them to figure that out for themselves. "Those of you taking instruments, I assume you're sorted." I direct my gaze at Sam, Noah and Artie, and smile when I receive three quick nods. I look at Finn.

"I'm just taking my sticks," he says. Which makes sense, because why would we want to lug an entire drum kit all the way to Chicago?

I run through the rest of them, checking on music and choreography and other admin. Mr Schuester is supposed to handle all of this, but he's been stuck in a faculty meeting all afternoon, and we don't have much time left before we have to meet back at the parking lot for our bus ride to the airport in Columbus.

I remind them of that as I dismiss them, and then proceed to pack up my things. I have just enough time to get home, run through all my belongings, grab my already-prepared snack, and then get back in time. One of my dads is supposed to drop me off but, as yet, I still don't know which one.

Neither, apparently.

Which is what I discover when I arrive home to find Shelby and Benji waiting on the front porch, one looking sheepish and the other looking blissfully unaware. While I've seen Benji before, I've never actually officially _met_ him, and I'm a little overwhelmed by the sight of them.

Shelby must sense it, because she suddenly looks stricken with panic. "Oh," she says. "This was a bad idea. I knew this was a bad idea." She shakes her head, her face falling even further. "We just wanted to see you off, and - gosh, this was a _terrible_ idea."

I'm _almost_ amused. I'm more charmed, really, because Shelby's panic and Benji's innocence are so endearing. "No," I manage to say, recovering. Barely. "It's okay. It's just a surprise, that's all." I actually smile, and it's less forced than I initially anticipate, which is good. "Hi."

Shelby's own returned smile is hesitant. "Hi," she says, and then bounces Benji on her hip. "We're your chauffeurs."

"Is that so?"

Shelby nods. "Cleared it with your fathers and everything," she says, and she sounds almost proud of herself. It reminds me oddly of Quinn, and I can't help but wonder just what strings my girlfriend has been pulling behind these scenes. She's a sneaky one, and I honestly can't wait to see her.

I blink. "They know you're here?"

Shelby nods. "I'm definitely going to be doing things the right way this time around," she says. "Though, in hindsight, that probably would have included clearing this with you as well, right?"

My smile widens. "You cleared it with Quinn, which is good enough."

Shelby blanches slightly. "That obvious, huh?"

"It practically _screams_ Quinn Fabray."

Shelby shifts Benji until his face is covering hers. "You can't be mad at this face," she says from behind the boy, and I find myself laughing.

Particularly when Benji says, "No mad."

I reach out to poke his cheek gently. "I hear you, Benji," I say. Then, to Shelby, I say, "I still have some final packing to do, but I should be ready to go in a few minutes. You want to come inside?"

"Sure."

It's a little awkward, at first, because I don't know if I'm supposed to invite them upstairs to my bedroom or just leave them downstairs to... hover. Shelby seems to make the decision for us both by setting Benji on the carpet of the living room, and then very carefully taking a seat on the couch before reaching for one of Quinn's textbooks that she left out.

"I'll be right back," I say. "Help yourself to anything in the kitchen."

It isn't until I'm in my bedroom that I let out the breath I didn't even realise I was holding.

Quinn.

This is all Quinn.

I immediately reach for my phone, unsurprised to find two texts from her.

 _Quinn: Did you watch?_

 _Quinn: Also, please don't be mad. I love you._

I'm shaking my head as I begin to type my reply, because she's actually ridiculous.

 **Berry: Of course I watched. We all did. It was amazing and heart-stopping, and ohmygod, I think I probably would have peed myself if I were actually there watching it live. The stress is too much. How do you do it?**

 **Berry: Also, why would I be mad? What have you done?**

I pocket my phone, and then do a final check of my suitcase. I have to put in a few toiletries, and I have to remember to pack the lucky bra Quinn sent me fourteen messages about. She'll probably kill me if I forget to bring it for her, because she's convinced she's going to need all the luck she can get to make sure the Show Choir Nationals' Title comes home with us. It's definitely one of my favourites, really. It's white with deep red kisses on it, and I love the way it looks on her.

And, well, off of her, as well.

I really do miss her.

Everything about her.

All the big things, and all the little things, as well.

She's really easy to miss, and sometimes I get the feeling she knows it. The little shit.

I absently hum to myself as I finish my packing. I'm actually surprised by how settled I feel about having Shelby in the house. This is, essentially, my _home_ , and she's never really been a part of it. She's never _wanted_ to, and I reason people are capable of changing in all the best and worst ways. I've seen the proof of that in Quinn - best, definitely the _best_ of ways with her - and I'm holding out for Shelby, because this is just the person I am.

I know I should be more worried about putting myself out there again; of allowing myself to be vulnerable with Shelby, but I get the feeling Quinn and my dads have her treading carefully. This is what it feels like to be loved by Quinn Fabray. She does it low-key, behind the scenes, proving her love to me by making me feel safe enough to take this chance with my mother with the knowledge that there's someone _right there_ to make sure I suffer the least amount of hurt if this comes back to bite me.

Which, I'm really optimistic it won't.

Once everything is zipped up and ready to go, I check my phone to find a series of texts from Quinn, and I'm hit, once more, by the feeling that I literally cant wait to see her.

 _Quinn: How I do it is... well, I don't think I breathe for the entire performance. I don't know. It's all just part and parcel of the entire experience. It's actually such a rush. The blood is pumping, and the music is booming, and you have all these steps committed to muscle memory, and I don't even think I remember actually DOING the routine once it's over. Is this normal?_

 _Quinn: Umm. If you're not mad, then there's nothing more to discuss._

 _Quinn: Did I mention how much I love you?_

I roll my eyes as I shake my head, because she's obviously guilty of something. I'll find out later, though, as I shoot off a quick text that I'll call her from the bus, and then head down the stairs with my various pieces of luggage. In the grand scheme of things, everything I've actually packed definitely could have been a lot worse if Kurt hadn't ensured I packed only the absolute essentials.

 _And_ Quinn's bra.

Benji comes running out from the living room when I step off the last stair, and he immediately barrels into my legs, wrapping his tiny arms around my knees.

"Oomph," I say, even though it really feels as if I've been hit by a warm pillow. I look down at him when he giggles, taking in his sandy blonde hair and grey eyes. He looks absolutely nothing like me or Shelby. If anything, he looks the most like Quinn, and that's a thought that probably _should_ make me uncomfortable, but I've already come to accept that Quinn Fabray and I are probably, definitely, going to be having four, maybe five, children in the future.

It's less terrifying than I thought it would be.

It's not scary at all.

"Hello, you," I say, running a hand over his soft hair. He's just a boy. A tiny person who needed someone to take him in and look after him, and I could _never ever_ resent him for that. I _can't_. This little human being has Shelby's love and care, and I can never begrudge him for that.

"We going," he declares, and then attempts to roll my suitcase, which is about double - _triple_ \- the size of him.

"Easy there," I say, holding onto the handle before he succeeds in dropping it onto himself. "Why don't you carry this instead?" I offer, handing him my handbag that weighs next to nothing. "It has all the important things."

Benji takes the bag from me, and then marches back to the living room. "Mama, we going."

The pang in my chest is present, but not overwhelming. This feels like something I could probably get used to. Maybe. One day. Soon.

Shelby appears in the doorway, a tender smile on her face when she looks at Benji. "Are you ready?" she asks him. At his nod, she looks at me, and I'm surprised by the fact her smile doesn't change at all. If anything, it actually grows softer, and, okay, I'm a little overwhelmed now. "Are _you_ ready?" she asks.

All I can really do is nod.

"Have you got your ID?" she asks. "Songbook? Toothbrush? Underwear?"

I blush. "I'm sorted. Don't worry."

"Just making sure."

It's a completely motherly thing that she's just done, and it doesn't feel forced or even planned. It's really something one of my dads, or even Quinn, would have done, and there's something so organic and natural about this moment. If Shelby catches on to what it really means, she doesn't mention it.

Instead, she scoops up Benji, takes the handle of my suitcase from me, and starts to exit the house. I rush to the kitchen to pick up my pre-packed snacks for the trip. At least, without Santana around, I can expect to be able to eat my own apple chips. For someone who snarks on and on about healthy foods, she's a little obsessed with them. Kind of like Quinn and bacon.

No.

I take that back.

 _Nothing_ quite compares to Quinn's borderline obsession with the meat product.

The one thing, which I absolutely adore about her, is that she really doesn't eat it when she's around me. We don't have it in this house at all. Even though my Daddy will never actually be a vegan or a vegetarian, bacon kind of goes against my Dad's moral beliefs, as well as his latent religious ones.

So, no to the bacon.

I absently wonder if we're going to stock it in the future, when we live together. _Would_ I be willing to bend that way, or would Quinn have to go _out_ to get her fix?

With a shake of my head, I file that thought away for another time - we still have a ways to go before we get there, anyway - and then leave the house. I turn on the porch light as I go, and then lock the door behind me after a quick last check that all the windows are closed and nothing is grossly out of place.

Shelby already has my suitcase in the trunk and Benji strapped into his car seat by the time I get to the car, and she's waiting outside. "All set?"

I nod.

"Let's get going."

* * *

It's not awkward.

I mean, it really _could_ be, if Benji wasn't singing happily and obliviously along to songs from _Sesame Street_ playing from a CD. But, the reality is that Shelby doesn't seem to know what to say, and I'm just as lost, if not more. As much as I appreciate the lift, being in a confined space with nothing really to talk about isn't really helping with our new, fledgling relationship.

But, I guess we kind of _have_ to go through all of this to get to the other side, as it were.

At least, that's what I think Quinn would tell me.

"Tell me the truth," I eventually start; "do you think we have a chance of winning?" Show choir seems like a safe beginning point. We're both obviously passionate about it, and it doesn't have to be a _thing_ , if we don't let it.

"Definitely," Shelby answers without any hesitation.

I blink. "You sound so sure," I point out.

"With a voice like yours, you definitely stand a chance, Rachel," she says. "But, it's one thing to have the talent. You know that. It's about more than the voice, sometimes. Especially in show choir performance."

And, the thing is, I _do_ know. If it were just the voice, I suspect Mr Schuester could put just me front and centre, and we would definitely place. The competition _is_ a team one, though, and it's going to take more than just a powerful voice to sway the judges and the audience. It takes good song choices, amazing choreography, smart costume choices, rigorous practice and heart and soul.

New Directions has all of those things.

 _Now_.

I know I shouldn't, but I really can't help thinking a lot of our upcoming success has a lot to do with Quinn, who is capable of pulling strings and getting things done behind the scenes, that everyone seems to think is magic. I actually think she would make a great politician. Though, I don't know how being gay will help her ever get elected.

And, God, imagine being married to an actual politician. Our poor children.

"Shelby?" I suddenly say.

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you an extremely personal question?"

She seems to steel herself, but eventually nods. "Go ahead."

I gather my own self, and then ask, "You're not in a relationship, are you?"

Shelby glances at me. "No, I'm not."

"Can I ask... why?"

Shelby's grip adjusts on the steering wheel, but she doesn't look tense. "Would it be terribly contrite to say it's because I haven't met the right person yet?"

I don't respond.

She sighs. "For a long time, I was very career driven," Shelby admits carefully. "After I had you, and after I made my way to New York, I had one clear goal: make it on Broadway. It's a tireless endeavour that can drain your soul. I worked three jobs just to live there, and I squeezed in auditions when I could. I had some success, sure, and I built a bit of a name for myself, given that my formal training was minimal, at best. It took years for me to realise I would never _really_ make it and, you know what they say, if you can't do, _teach_."

I frown. "That's an awful thing to say."

She shrugs. "So, I went back to school to get my teaching degree," she says. "I was... older than a lot of the other students. Not by much, not really. Anyway, until that point, I had dated on and off. Nobody really stuck. I was too busy and too focused for that, but then I met this boy, Andrew." She blushes slightly, and then shakes her head. "I say _boy_ , but he was only eight years younger than me. He was in one of my English classes, a required class for his Paramedic certification. He wasn't the type of guy I usually went for. I mean, besides the fact he was so young, he was a bit of a nerd." She laughs softly. "Cute, but such a mama's boy, which I found endearing at first. I fell hard and fast, and I had to know it would be disastrous when his _very close knit_ Italian family found out just how much older I was."

I can't help my wince.

"I think, in everyone's life, there's that one love that seems to _define you_ , in a way. It doesn't have to be a first love, or even the love you eventually end up with, and my experience with him was that for me. Beyond that relationship, I focused back on my career, which, despite how off track it got, was always a safety for me. I channeled a lot of my heartbreak... badly. I think I became cold and distant, which did wonders for my teaching reputation within the show choir circuit. Eventually, Carmel came calling, and I jumped at the opportunity, because there was a part of me that _knew_ I needed a break from New York, and - " she pauses. "And _you_ were in Ohio, which is really all I knew at the time."

If I'm being honest - and I am - when I asked my question, I really didn't expect this entire story, but I find myself so intrigued by her tale. I've wanted to know all these things for so long, and now she's willingly telling them to me.

"I built even more of a reputation at Carmel," Shelby says. "It's easier to focus on that kind of thing and, before I knew it, I was approaching my late-thirties and alone in all the worst ways. I mean, I have my parents and brother in Akron, but it's not the same. Companionship and _that_ kind of family is different. I got the feeling it was too late, you know, and I started actively thinking about you and who you were and where you were, and I _knew_ I wanted a child." Here, she pauses, because this touches on sensitive topics that I'm not too sure we should delve into when I'm about to board a bus for Columbus.

Shelby clears her throat. "What I'm really trying to say is that I tried, and it didn't work out. I spent _years_ so focused on my career and being the best show choir director in the country that when I finally looked up, my entire life was just passing me by. I have regrets about Andrew, and about you, and I think it's my duty, just as an adult, to inform you that you have found something very special with Quinn."

I audibly swallow.

"It's what you're really asking, isn't it?"

I nod once.

"I know a few things about _men_ ," Shelby says, "but I think the sentiments still count for any significant other. If you have a good one, hold onto them. They don't have to be perfect, but they have to _try_. I think that makes all the difference. They should be hardworking and be willing to go above and beyond to make you happy. Your best friend. Helping _you_ be better. They should be _there_ , a place where you can run to. And, sure, they're probably going to mess up from time to time, but they're _trying_ to be better for you. So, you love them, celebrate them, and you hold onto them because that kind of person is difficult to find."

I sit quietly for a while, surprised when we eventually pull into the school's parking lot, and Shelby finds a spot in the sea of relatively empty spots.

Shelby shifts the gear into Park, and looks at me. "Somehow, I feel as if I haven't actually answered your non-question," she observes.

"I'm not entirely sure what I want to know," I confess.

"If I'm understanding correctly, you really want to know if putting my career ahead of love is a decision I regret, given that I've ended up alone."

I blink. "When you put it that way, it sounds horrible."

Shelby laughs softly, her eyes looking out the windscreen at where Mercedes has just pulled up with her older brother. "I may not have... companionship," she starts carefully, "but it's not as if I'm not... happy." She looks at me. "I have an amazing, loving family, Rachel. I have a good job, a roof over my head, food on the table. I have comfort and security, and I have love. I have Benji, and... I have you, right?"

I fiddle with the hem of my shirt. "Would that make you happy?"

She nods. "Happier than I've ever been."

"Then, yes, you have me," I say.

"You like making people happy, don't you?"

I'm not sure _what_ that would make me - conceited, confident or just plain strange? - to reply with a confirmation, so I remain silent.

"Hold onto that, as well," Shelby says softly. "The struggle to make it in show business is taxing, Rachel, and it can be hard to hold onto all the good things, and hold onto who _you_ are. They're going to try to rob you of things, and tell you things that will make you question your goals and dreams and identity, but I need you to remember you are a beautiful, talented, smart, wonderful young woman, and there is a place for you."

I swallow. "You mean, beyond my non-traditional appearance and out-of-the-norm sexual preference?"

"Yes."

And, that - _that_ \- is what I need to hear. I don't really realise it until I feel some tension bleed out of my body, and Shelby looks suitably amused by it all.

"Sometimes, we all seem to forget you're still just a girl," Shelby says thoughtfully. "Whenever you need reassurance, you can just call me."

"Because, we're actually doing this?"

"I know I am," Shelby says. "I understand if you're still apprehensive. I just want you to know that, well, Benji and I are going to be spending most of the summer here in Ohio, and I would like to see more of you when you get back. If that's okay with you, of course."

I trap my bottom lip between my teeth to stop myself from full-out beaming at her. "That sounds... acceptable."

Shelby actually lets out a snort, and I can't hold back my smile anymore. "Well, with that resounding declaration, I think it's time you go and wrangle your charges."

I frown slightly, looking out of the car to see Noah with Mike in a headlock, Kurt and Blaine arguing about something and Sugar rolling across the asphalt on her suitcase. "Oh, wow," I murmur, because _where is Quinn when you need her_? "They're a bunch of animals," I mutter as I move to open the door, but Shelby stops me. "Something wrong?"

"No," she quickly says. _Too_ quickly, if you ask me. "It's just, well, I think it's best if we say goodbye now."

"Oh?"

"I don't want my presence to distract you or _them_ ," she says, looking slightly unsure. "You're going to be accosted with questions, and I'm certain Will hates me."

I frown. "What? Why?"

Shelby shakes her head. "We'll talk about it all when you get back," she says. "I promise to be right here to pick you up."

"Really?"

"Barring a natural disaster, yes," she says.

"Don't say such things," I say in mock horror. "You'll jinx everything." I sigh. "But, I suppose your right... about the distraction thing. Most of them were never too happy with you. Or, with Jesse."

Shelby winces. "We really have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

I nod, and then smile. "But, we'll do that all when I get back?"

"We will," she confirms. "Now, go out there and show the show choir world just what heart and soul will get you."

I raise my eyebrows. "Heartbreak and crushing disappointment?"

Shelby lets out an unexpected laugh. "Exactly," she says. "Something just like that."

* * *

To my immense surprise, we get on the road only ten minutes behind schedule, but I've already catered for that, and we're making good time. Everyone is safely on board, all luggage is accounted for and we're on our way.

I say a silent prayer to the God Quinn believes in that we get to our destination safely and on time.

Thinking of Quinn.

I take out my phone, glance carefully at all the empty seats around me, and then dial Quinn's number. I'm not sure if I'm actually expecting her to answer or not, so my smile spreads widely when I hear a muffled, "Hey," a few seconds later.

"Hey, yourself," I say, keeping my voice quiet, even though Finn and Noah seem to be telling a very loud, exuberant story about something or the other.

"You get off okay?" Quinn asks.

"I would be remiss not to point out just what a double entendre that is," I murmur.

"Jesus, your head is _always_ in the gutter, isn't it?"

I just laugh. "Yes, we're on our way," I inform her. "How are you? Do you know the results yet?"

"That's good," Quinn says, sounding slightly distracted. "Oh, um, I'm fine," she says. "And, no, we won't find out until at least eight o'clock, I think. All the Squads have to finish performing first, and then the judges deliberate, and _then_ they post the list."

"But you're feeling confident about it, aren't you?"

"Definitely," she agrees. "I'm sorry about earlier. I don't really know what was happening to me."

"It's okay," I assure her.

"Is it?"

"Yes, baby." I glance nervously around me, but the closest people to me are Kurt and Mercedes, and they seem to be locked in their own deep, meaningful conversation. I wouldn't even know how to explain _whom_ I just called 'baby' on the phone, and that should really force me to be more careful.

We're _so close_ to graduation now, and closer to being _done_ with this place - though, I suppose ignoring that my dads actually still and _will_ live here seems to be the truth in our minds - and I'm determined not to mess this up for us.

"Thank you, you know," Quinn says, and then says some mumbled words to someone else. "Sorry," she says. "Britt was just asking about the Squad that's just going on. Their uniform is this neon pink, and I think I'm actually _blinded_."

I let out a giggle. "It can't be that bad."

"Hold on," she says. "Let me take a picture."

I wait patiently until I feel my phone buzz, and I'm presented with a picture of the brightest pink uniforms I have ever seen. I even wince at the sight, and I have to wonder if the other cheerleaders are actually going to end up with problems with their eyesight.

I bring the phone back to my ear. "So... not an exaggeration, huh?"

"Nope," Quinn says with a laugh. "They're not half bad, though. They need some work, but definitely one of the better ones." She hums softly. "There was a Squad from Washington that had the ultimate fail. It's not funny. I know it's not, but when two cheerleaders crash into each other during their front springs, you have to laugh. It was fucking hilarious. Only because nobody actually got hurt."

"Baby, you really don't have to defend the fact you laughed to me," I say, reassuring her.

"I feel kind of bad," Quinn admits, and she's actually so precious. "I think I would be beyond inconsolable if that were to happen to me and my Squad. I mean, Coach would have incinerated us already, but it's just sucky. Funny- _ish_ , but really kind of horrible."

"You are so cute," I say, before I can help myself. "Like, I don't even know what to do with myself."

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too," I whisper, and I reason I may or may not have to have those words tattooed somewhere on my body.

Maybe Quinn and I can make an entire event out of it, my first one and her second. Though, where I would put it, I have no idea. It's a permanent thing, and I wouldn't want to put it somewhere _too_ visible. I _do_ have a potential career to worry about, and I'm already entering the performing world with enough obstacles.

My face falls, because that is the absolute _last_ thing I want to be thinking about.

 _Quinn_ is not some obstacle.

Our sexuality isn't something I'm going to have to _overcome_.

God, I really don't want to be having those kinds of thoughts.

At all.

"I love you," I immediately say, and it comes out a little too loud and somewhat rushed because _I need her to know_. I have no regrets or hangups about our relationship, and I need to prove it to her, even though she has no idea what's just crossed my mind.

"Okay...?" Quinn hesitantly says. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

" _Rachel_."

I take a breath. "I just love you," I say, "and I miss you, and I didn't know I needed an actual reason to tell you that."

"You do when you say it like _that_ ," Quinn points out. "What's happening right now?"

I close my eyes tightly, because I feel disgustingly guilty that this is even a thing, especially after the assurances I was searching for with from Shelby. And, really, what is it with Quinn and picking up things _over the phone_? "I was just having a moment," I finally confess. "One of those, uh, terrifying moments when the future flashes through my mind and I end up worrying too much about everything all at once."

"You're definitely going to have to be more specific, Rach," Quinn says. "What can I do to help?"

I feel the tension in my body bleed away with a dreamy sigh, because I'm just _so_ lucky to have this wonderful, amazing girl in my life, and I _know_ it. Of course, I do. "You're doing it," I tell her. "You do it every single day."

Quinn is silent for a moment. "Okay," she eventually allows. "You obviously don't want to talk about it, and that's okay. Just, you know, remember that I love you and I'm happy with you, and we're going to take over the world, and I'm going to see you in, like, thirty-six hours, give or take. The math is hurting my head, and don't even get me started on the time difference."

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"I think you've been spending too much time with the stereotypical cheerleader," I tell her.

"Why do you say that?"

"You're starting to sound like them."

Quinn is silent for a long moment, and then she gasps. "Oh, my God, _I am_."

I can't help my laugh, and a few heads turn my way, which makes me blush. Kurt shoots me a knowing look, and Blaine makes the smooch action without any sound. Those idiots.

"Rachel," Quinn rushes, and she sounds genuinely panicked. "This is a travesty. What do I do? What if it's, like, permanent or something?" She pauses. "Oh, my God, I just did it again. How do I make it stop?"

"Just, talk to me," I tell her.

She calms instantly. "Hi."

"I think it's time for you to come home."

"No," she says, and she sounds like a stubborn toddler now. "I have a Nationals' Title to win."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

Honestly, I don't even know what we're currently talking about. "Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

She hums again. "See, I like it so much better when you say it like that," she says. "No rush. No force. Just a simple truth."

"It _is_ the truth, you know," I say. "I'm aware the two of us have been through quite a bit in our young lives, both together and apart, but the truth of the matter is that I love you and you love me, and that's all I'm going to allow to matter in this moment. Got it?"

"Loud and clear, Miss Berry."

I smile to myself. "Now, tell me, what happens when you make the cut for tomorrow?"

She lets out a soft laugh, but there isn't even a hint of denial in her tone when she speaks again. "Well, when we get the confirmation, Coach will probably have us rehearse the routine at least three times tonight before sending us to bed. Sleep is important, and I reason a lot of the girls are going to be quite exhausted after a full day in the sun."

"And then?"

"We'll find out the order of performance in the morning, and then get through the schedule. The results should be out by three o'clock, so they'll make the announcement, and then the evening is a mandatory dinner at the hotel that's hosting the competition."

"Dinner?"

"Kind of an awards dinner," Quinn explains. "There'll be speeches and _someone_ is probably going to drone on about the importance of cheerleading in our schools and blah blah blah."

"So, _would_ you win anything?"

"Me, personally?"

"Yes."

She hums. "It's doubtful," she finally says. "If we end up winning, the team would go up on stage, but I don't think I've done anything worth awarding."

" _Quinn_."

She sighs. "It's the truth, Rach," she says. "I'm just doing my job, you know. What I'm meant to."

"Oh, baby," I murmur; "you don't even _know_ how much you do, do you?"

And, really, the fact Quinn can't respond is response enough.


	61. sixty-one

**Chapter Sixty-One**

.

 **Quinn**

.

 _some words build houses in your throat._  
 _and they live there, content and on fire._

 _._

"Why does that blonde keep staring at you?"

I glance up from where I'm picking at my food, my gaze falling on Santana's scowling face. "Hmm?"

"Blonde. Two o'clock. The girl hasn't stopped staring at you since we sat down." She lets out a tiny growl. "Who the fuck does she think she is?"

I follow her line of sight, and then sigh. "That's Zoey Madison," I say tiredly.

Santana blinks. "You mean, the girl who hits on you _every year_ , even after you explicitly told her you have an actual boyfriend?"

I nod, absently wondering why or how Santana even remembers any of that. "She's been especially... forward this year, though," I observe, frowning slightly. "Maybe, it's because it's our last year here."

"Or..." Santana offers with a wicked grin; "it could be because you reek of lesbian, now."

I can't help my laugh, casually sniffing at my clothing. "Is that so?"

"You're practically wearing it like a sign on your forehead," she points out. "All of them can probably sense it. We both know this Zoey chick isn't the only one who's done a double-take when it comes to you. I mean, if I didn't find you so fucking annoying, I'd probably be interested, too. Everyone likes a hot blonde, Q - you must know that."

I shrug, because it doesn't matter if I've noticed or not. I can acknowledge it's not the first time it's happened. I'm the captain of the best cheerleading squad in the country, and I'm among a bunch of teenage, hormonal cheerleaders.

 _That_ much is expected.

What _isn't_ , though, is the... blatant leering that comes with the glances.

"You're going to have to get used to it," Santana eventually says, putting a forkful of grilled chicken into her mouth. "From my recollection, Yale is like a gay hub."

"Santana," I mutter, unable to stop my smile.

"It's like the Ivy League Factory of gays. They practically make them there."

"Oh, my God," I say, laughing. "That's one of the worst things that's ever left your mouth, and I've heard you say some awful things."

"Tell me it's not true."

Before I can even open my mouth, Brittany says, "It's true," from across the table where she'd previously been creating a kind of fort with her parsnip chips.

I just shake my head, and then check my phone to see if there's anything from Rachel. They should be boarding their flight soon, provided everything's on schedule, and I kind of want to talk to my girlfriend before she has to switch off her phone. Call me clingy - or whipped, as Santana would - but this time apart has shifted everything into perspective for me.

And, I think, for Rachel, as well.

Long distance is definitely going to be more difficult than I thought. Or, it's going to be exactly what I think it's going to be like: absolute torture. As if Rachel and I haven't already been through enough; we also have pining and longing and sexual frustration to look forward to in the coming years. There's a certain guilt that follows me, prickling at the back of my neck, whispering the words _this is your doing_ in my ear, and reminding me that I have the power to change the entire trajectory of the next four years for both of us.

Though, even if I _were_ in New York, there's nothing to say we would see each other more or less, or if we would be able to handle a college relationship where we were in the same city but didn't actually _see_ each other as often as I imagine we would like to. That would definitely be worse, I suspect. Knowing she's _right there_ , and just not being able to see her.

"Jesus," Santana suddenly says, snapping me back to reality. "The bitch just _won't_ _stop staring_ ," she practically growls. "Is she expecting you to go over there or something? Because, fuck, I could go over there for you, and give her a - "

I place a hand over hers, instantly calming her. "She wants a rise out of... us, I guess, and you're giving her exactly what she wants."

"Can't I just eat my fucking chicken and vegetables in peace?"

Brittany topples over her mini-fort with her fork, getting a laugh out of us both. "You don't even like chicken and vegetables," she points out.

"Well," Santana says, smirking in my direction. "Q here has a lifetime of vegetables to look forward to."

I straighten my spine. "At least I'm not the only one who knows I'm going to be spending the rest of my life with Rachel Berry."

"You've never been the only one," Brittany says, almost distractedly. "I'm pretty sure I knew before you did."

I blink. "When _did_ you know, B?"

Brittany's facial expression twists into an adorable pout, and I catch sight of Santana's breathless sigh in my periphery. As aloof as Santana likes to act about the breakup - that really doesn't even look like a breakup - I can tell it's affected her deeply. I get the feeling she can't wait to get to New York herself, and just start living her adult life, away from here and away from Brittany.

"I suspected _long_ ago," Brittany says. "Even back when you two were fighting over Finn."

"What?" I practically shriek, and then flush madly when several heads turn to look at our table. I duck slightly, and turn my incredulous eyes on Brittany. "There is _no way_ ," I say. "How - but - that's - " I stop, huffing. "I'm pretty sure I wanted to _throttle_ her at the time."

Santana snorts. "You wanted to put your hands on her, even then," she says, obviously teasing. "Fuck Hudson. You've always been hot for Berry."

"No, I haven't!" I say hotly, and, fuck, by voice comes out more stern than I anticipated, catching us all off guard. Santana sobers at my tone, and I shrink back, embarrassed and suddenly off-kilter. "I haven't," I repeat, slightly calmer, but only just. "I loved Finn. I _loved_ him. There was _nobody_ else when I was with him, okay? We loved each other. We did."

"Of course, you did," Brittany says, and I catch sight of Santana shooting her a confused, questioning look.

I bring my hands into my lap, shaking my head as I blink repeatedly. "We were in love," I say, and my voice is shaky at best. We were. We _were_. "We - we _made_ love. She - she was born _from_ that love. She's a product of it."

Once the words are out, they settle over us all, and I sometimes hate that I always make everything so _heavy_. Still, we should all know by now that regular teasing doesn't really work with me, and this is just something I can't escape. There are fucking landmines everywhere. Triggers everywhere.

Beth is the biggest one, by far.

I clear my throat, my appetite gone completely - if it were ever there to begin with. "Umm," I awkwardly say, fully aware that my fingers are shaking. "I need to - I should - uh - bathroom." I get to my feet, stumbling slightly, and reach for my tray, only for Brittany's hand to take hold of it.

"It's okay," she says. "I'll take care of it."

I definitely don't argue, as I turn and walk away. My heart is pounding, and I'm certain I'm going to end up with bruising on the inside of my ribcage. I'm almost aware I'm having a panic attack - anxiety attack? something - and my breathing is unsteady.

Because, I did love Finn. I did. I had to. I _believe_ my baby girl resulted from that ridiculous, teenage love. That's what it was, because I know now it doesn't hold a candle to what I have with Rachel. I've also come to the somewhat painful realisation that I had to love Finn more than he loved me, based on the way our relationship ended, even if I was unable to show it to him.

Rachel has taught me how to _show_ it, and that's just one of the many differences between the two people I've loved romantically.

I know it's silly. I'm being an idiot, and my fingers twitch with my desire to talk to Rachel. Or even my therapist. We've gone over my relationship with Finn in depth, and we've discussed - however tentatively - my feelings regarding Beth and what she means for the rest of my life going forward. It's no secret to me, Rachel or even her fathers that I want children; a whole lot of them, but I can't help the insistent worry that... Beth is going to hate me for it.

No.

Not today.

I'm not dealing with this right now. There is a time and a place, and this is not it. I constantly repeat the words in my head as I stumble into the closest bathroom, just needing the comfort of it, even if Rachel is nowhere to be found. It works for two full minutes, as I stand and scrub my hands, rinse my face and try to calm _everything_. I can't remember the last time I had any kind of reaction like this. I'm calm.

I'm _always_ calm.

Rachel is the one who has these moments, and I wish they didn't exist for either of us. So, two minutes is all the respite I get, because, even though there have been girls coming in and out of the bathroom, my entire body prickles when I feel eyes on me, just at the moment my heartbeat has settled. It's an unfamiliar feeling and, as tempted as I am to turn around, I don't.

The unfamiliarity of it is familiar, and I suddenly know exactly who it is.

Fuck.

With a sigh, I turn off the water and straighten my spine. I reach for a paper towel to dry my hands, absently making a mental note to get some hand cream from Brittany later. Santana always teases us about maintaining good hand and nail care and, well, she's right: it's important, and it's not as if I haven't noticed her perfect manicures. All talk.

I sigh again, because this is the last thing I want to be doing right now. Ever.

It takes me another thirty seconds to turn around, and I come face-to-face with a very purposeful Zoey Madison. She's leaning against the far wall, watching me carefully. It's odd - really odd - because I'm not used to being under this kind of attention. Boys, I can handle. They're simpler when it comes to this kind of thing, and I've never really felt like the prey when it comes to them. They like to _think_ they're the predators, but they're not.

Today, though, I feel very much like Zoey is stalking me, just waiting to pounce. I'm pretty sure I told her I was taken, so I don't know what she's doing here. I'm tempted to take out my phone and call for backup. I'm sure Santana would know what to do in this situation, but she would also probably cause some kind of national incident. How would we even spin one cheerleader physically attacking another one?

Well, nobody would have to know.

My lips almost quirk upwards, but I manage to stop myself. It's important to remain as impassive as ever in this situation, giving nothing away, because this is serious. Whatever it is.

"So," Zoey starts. "My mind's been telling me you've been playing hard to get for the past four years."

"Your mind is wrong."

She shrugs. "I usually don't listen to it, anyway."

"Madison," I say, and the warning is clear in my tone. "Please."

"Please what?" she questions, pushing off the wall and taking steps towards me. " _Please_ stop calling me Madison, _Fabray_. My name is Zoey." She tilts her head to the side. "Well, I suppose it helps that my surname can be considered a first name."

I remain silent.

"So," she muses. "Where you headed in the Fall?"

 _Yale_.

"I bet it's somewhere fancy," Zoey continues, ignoring my silence. "Ivy League, definitely. You look it." She gets even closer, and I resist the urge to take a step back. "It's a shame, really. You on the East Coast, me on the West." She hums.

I clear my throat. "Zoey."

"Ah," she says happily. "She knows my name."

I clench my jaw. "What are you doing?"

"Does the fact I'm a girl make you uncomfortable?" she asks, ignoring my question. "Because you seem to get on just fine with your blonde friend and the Latina, and it's pretty obvious what they are."

It takes a lot of willpower not to react visibly. The truth is she _is_ making me uncomfortable, because this situation is just too new and too unfamiliar. But, giving even an inch right now would be disastrous, and Quinn Fabray _does not_ buckle.

So, faking it as much as I can, I straighten to my full height and level her with a glare worthy of my HBIC moniker. I've never really had to bring it out in front of Zoey but, God, this is too much. Like, way too much. What would Rachel think of this situation? What would I think if Rachel were in this situation?

"Zoey," I say, a certain edge to my voice that makes her eyes snap to my own. "Seriously. What on earth are you doing? You _know_ I'm not interested. You even deduced for yourself that I'm in a relationship. We both know nothing is _ever_ going to happen, so I really need you step back before you take us both past the point of being able to salvage some kind of friendship. Which would be a shame, because you seem... purposeful." My brow furrows, unsure about the word. "Determined, maybe. Resolute. Unwavering."

Zoey snorts, cutting off my synonymical ramble. "Definitely Ivy League."

I can't help my smirk. It's small, but it's there. "I'm very happy, Zoey," I say. "You don't want me."

"Oh?"

"You don't," I repeat. "I'm bad news."

Zoey's brow furrows. "You think I don't know anything about you?" she asks, tilting her head to the side. "This isn't some... new infatuation, Quinn."

Well, that's a little surprising. "It's not?"

She laughs. "You really have no idea, do you?"

And, yes, I really don't. Maybe this is part of what I'm supposed to have overcome or something, because all I can keep thinking is Finn believes I'm not enough. It's probably the worst time to be descending into this potential breakdown, and none of my coping techniques are coming to mind.

Jesus.

This is a disaster.

I'm such a mess.

"Zoey," I murmur, and my voice is less warning and more pleading. I really _can't_ do this right now. Or, ever.

Zoey blinks, as if she's just catching herself doing whatever she's doing, and she takes a step back. "Oh," she sounds, understanding seeping into her features. "Oh, sweetheart."

I flinch at the term of endearment.

Rachel.

I need Rachel.

I suck in a breath. "Please can you just..." I trail off awkwardly, absently waving a hand to indicate that I need her to back off.

She immediately takes another step back, and I feel as if I can breathe a bit easier. This entire trip has been overwhelming, and I really don't need another stressor.

"Look, I - I'm flattered, okay, but I'm very much in love," I say, and the truth of my words is practically seeping out of me. "I'm extremely happy in a very fulfilling relationship, and I'm pretty sure none of what is currently happening is okay." I blink. "Okay?"

Zoey takes another step back. "Well, it seems I've misread you."

"Because I'm not a cheater?" The question comes out a little more harshly than I intended, but I won't take it back. I think it's a bit of a sore spot for me because, for a little moment there, I might have considered it. When I was still with Finn, and Puck was giving me all this attention; I couldn't escape the thought for a little while, and I don't need some kind of reminder.

"No, you're not," Zoey says. "I see that now."

I blink. "But, not before?"

"No, not before," she says, and _that's_ telling in ways that makes me slightly uncomfortable. I maybe _would_ have cheated on Finn, but definitely not on Rachel. I don't know if that says more about me or about the people I've dated. I'm not sure that's something I want to be unpacking right now, though, so I don't. One thing at a time and all that.

"Okay," I say, and I want this to be the end of it. "Now that we've established I've somehow discovered my morals, can we end this conversation?" I clear my throat. "If it was your intention to throw me off my game, you've succeeded. Congratulations. We'll see you tomorrow, I suppose."

"That wasn't - "

"It's okay," I say. "I get it. I'm actually quite impressed. Identify your enemy's weakness and go for it. Well done."

"Quinn, I'm - "

"But, I think we're done now," I say firm and final, just managing to come back to myself. "You can report back to your squad that you managed to get under the skin of the ice queen, and we can all go on our merry way once more. Good? Okay, then." This time, I don't give her a chance even to attempt to speak again as my mask slides firmly back into place and I walk around her. I originally came here for some solace from my own thoughts, and now -

What a disaster.

I escape to the outdoors and suck in a deep, much-needed breath. It's warm air, just off the back of a storm, but it's still refreshing. I don't head back towards where I'm sure my Squad is gathering to return to the bleachers to watch the rest of the performances, and rather stalk off to the side.

I still need that moment, and it really, definitely, helps when my phone starts to vibrate in the inside pocket of my skirt.

Oh, thank God.

I answer before I can even take another breath. "Hello."

"Hi, baby," Rachel says, and I can hear the gentle smile in her voice, even if it's obviously tinged with worry. "So, I received a call."

"San?"

"Britt, actually."

I sigh. "I'm fine," I lie, which may or may not be a default setting at this point. It's supposed to be the most common lie, anyway.

"Oh, I'm sure you are," she easily says, allowing me this undeserved respite. "I'm actually calling to complain about this ridiculous Glee Club we seem to love so much." She huffs out a breath. "You would think people would be more on the ball about all of this after our experience in New York, but we're really a bunch of headless chickens. Where are you when I need you to wrangle these crazy people?"

I chuckle softly, relieved she's not actually asking me what's wrong. I wouldn't even really know what to tell her. All I know is I'm going to have to schedule a series of critical appointments with my therapist to get through whatever this is.

Dr McMaster is definitely going to earn her keep, that's for sure.

Just.

I need to get through the next few days - just suck it up and _do it_ \- and then I can reevaluate everything.

I also really need to see Rachel.

If anyone were to ask me what we even talk about for the next five minutes, I wouldn't be able to tell them. I just let the sound of Rachel's voice lull me into a sense of ease and comfort, and I ignore the part of my brain that screams at me that this isn't healthy at all. Not even a little bit. I should be able to get through a trying day without Rachel. I should be able to _survive_ without her. Right?

Eventually, she sighs heavily. "I should probably go. We're about to board."

"Okay."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

I hesitate. "I will be," I finally say, deciding on the safest response. It's not a lie, technically, and she really needs not to ask for some kind of timeline on that. "I'll text you later, okay, when we know the results about tomorrow."

"Baby, the entire country already knows you made it to the next round," she says, all confidence. "That routine was insane. I honestly don't know how you'll ever top it."

"Well, I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

"I'll definitely be watching," she assures. "Make no mistake, Fabray. I'll be thinking about you the entire time."

"I love you."

Rachel sighs this dreamy sigh, and my heart clenches in response. "I love you, too."

* * *

It's not really a surprise to anyone that we make it to the second day of the competition.

It would have been more of a surprise if we didn't, but Rachel still squeals and congratulates us as if it's some kind of surprise to her, even though she practically predicted it. Coach Sylvester has us on very strict lockdown - I'm not complaining too much about it, and I'm pretty sure she's patrolling the corridors, anyway - so Brittany, Santana and I _Skype_ with the entirety of the Glee Club, who are huddled in one of the hotel rooms in Chicago. They all look rather exhausted after their travels, so we don't spend too much time on the call.

Still, it's nice to see them.

Rachel and I spend a few more minutes just texting before she falls asleep, and I'm eventually forced to deal with the day as a whole. That, apparently, includes Santana and Brittany crawling into bed with me, one on either side, creating some kind of cocoon of warmth and... what is that, vanilla? I would tease Santana about it, but I'm just that side of the border of exhaustion after the day we've just had.

Brittany nuzzles into my shoulder, wrapping an arm around my waist. For a girl who didn't grow up with soft touches, I didn't realise how much I actually _crave_ touch. Rachel hands it out so easily; her love language apparent for all to see, but I've never been the same. Seeking out comfort hasn't been something I do, but I'll accept it all the same.

Santana is like me that way, I suppose, but for reasons I've been unable to diagnose. She can be quite the enigma when she wants to be, and I'm not really in the mood to give myself a headache.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asks, her voice barely more than a whisper.

I don't respond immediately. Lying seems pointless, because they were both witnesses to what happened today.

Whatever that was.

"I can beat her up, you know?" Santana offers through my silence, allowing me a reprieve from discussing my almost-meltdown about Beth. That's an entire other beast, and I think it's best left untouched until we're done with Nationals.

I chuckle softly, relaxing into the mattress. "I don't think that'll be necessary, but thank you," I inform her. "It was just... surprising. Is - will I have to deal with that a lot?"

"Yes," Santana says, unashamed and probably truthful. "You're fucking hot, Fabray. Like, fuck, babe, even straight girls are drawn to you, and they don't even know why. You're going to be confusing a whole lot of college girls when you get up to Gay Town."

"Oh, my God, Santana."

"If I wasn't already bicurious, I _would_ be for you," Brittany says, kissing my cheek.

I blush, despite myself. "Rachel gave me explicit orders not to engage in any threesomes," I tell them, looking for something to say.

"You are _so_ whipped," Santana says, laughter in her tone.

"I am," I agree.

It's pointless to refute it, anyway. Evidence would have her statement be inexplicably true, and I'm not afraid of confirming it. I've been lucky in ways some people never are, just to have found someone I trust enough to take care of my battered heart.

"You're going to have to talk to her about this," Santana says.

"About what?"

"About the fact you turn into some kind of spazz when hot chicks flirt with you."

Brittany swats Santana's arm from across my body, practically elbowing me in the process. "That isn't what this is about, and you know it."

Santana just hums, saying nothing.

"Ladies, ladies, please don't fight," I mumble, a little bit amused by their antics. "And, I mean, I guess a little bit of that is right, but I was already..." I trail off. "I just - I was having a moment, and I guess Zoey kind of compounded it. Aggravated it." I lick my lips, trying to figure out how to explain myself. "I don't really know _what's_ happening, but - " I stop. "Everything's changing, isn't it?"

Santana just hums again.

"After this, after Nationals and graduation and the summer, we're all going to be in different places and trying to live adult lives, and, I mean, why were we ever so worried about high school so much, anyway? It all just seems so unimportant now. All of it. Why did we do any of that to ourselves?"

"Because people suck," Santana offers.

"They're mean," Brittany says. "Fear is real, Q. Just because we seem to have come out on the other side semi-okay, doesn't mean the middle wasn't scary."

"Hindsight and all that," Santana adds. "I mean, we don't even know if what comes after will be better."

"Can it be worse?"

"Don't jinx us," Brittany rushes to say. "And, really, you can't know. Nobody can."

"It's all relative," I say. "I _get_ that, but I've kind of been holding onto this hope that, once we're out of Lima, things will just be... better."

"They probably will," Santana finally relents. "In some ways, definitely. But, they could get worse in others. We can't know, and I think _that's_ the part that's got you all twisted up. Your existential crap is starting to give me a headache."

I can relate to that, at least. "I'm supposed to be getting better," I say, my voice quiet, laced with disappointment.

"You are," Brittany argues.

I don't necessarily agree with her, but I'm not in the mood for a debate. Instead, I sigh heavily and close my eyes. "We're going to win tomorrow," I whisper.

"Damn straight," Santana says.

"Which we all are not," Brittany murmurs, and we all burst into a fit of childish giggles that lasts far too long.

Our laughter eventually tapers off, and our breathing settles.

"I'm really going to miss you guys," I whisper.

"Shut up," Santana says, shifting to get more comfortable.

"Yeah," Brittany mutters; "Shut up."

I do.

That's the end of that conversation.

Still.

"Admit it, though," Santana murmurs as we're all finally drifting to sleep. "The three of us would be fucking hot together. Off the charts orgasmic."

I just swat her arm, and then wrap gentle fingers around her wrist, holding her in place.

Sleep comes easily.

* * *

Zoey finds me early the next morning, when I'm supposed to be eating breakfast but can't seem to bring myself to consume anything. For the most part, I've been expecting her to come and talk to me, so I'm as ready as I can be.

As far as distractions go, this one has been effective.

Still, I meet her gaze steadily when she asks to talk, and I nod. Santana's hostility is enough to unsettle anyone and, as much as I appreciate her in this moment, I get the feeling I need to have this conversation with Zoey. If not her, then _someone_. It has to happen at some point, and it's better to get it out of the way as soon as possible.

Zoey starts speaking first, unsurprisingly.

"I'm sorry."

I stop walking and turn to face her. We're far enough from our respective squads not to be heard, but I still want to be able to see them. My cheerleaders have a habit of getting into trouble without proper supervision.

"I realise I... probably made you uncomfortable yesterday," Zoey continues, nervously wringing her fingers together. It's such a stark contrast to the girl who was unafraid of getting up close and personal with me just the previous day.

"You did."

"I didn't think..." she starts and trails off. "It was kind of my intention, but not because I wanted to... get under your skin or throw you off your game. I just - I guess suppose I didn't really think it would be so out of left field for you, given your best friends."

I frown. "Excuse me?"

"It's because I'm a girl, isn't it? The reason you were so uncomfortable. I just assumed."

I blink. "Um, no," I say, because it's not really _all_ to do with that. "It's because I'm in a relationship. I couldn't care less if you were a boy or a girl."

Zoey looks at me, her own eyes a little wide. "I don't understand," she says, but she sounds as if she's speaking to herself. "I've _watched_ you for years. None of this makes sense. You were with that football player for years, and now you're not. But you're with someone else now, and I - I just don't understand."

Frankly, I'm as confused as she is. "What are you talking about?"

Zoey shakes her head. "You're... different."

"Okay...?"

"Who is he?" she asks. "Can you tell me about him? Just so I can understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why you're so different."

"Why do you think it has to do with another person?"

"Doesn't it?"

If I'm being honest, I can't actually say it has _all_ to do with Rachel. She's the catalyst, yes, because she's allowed me this opportunity to grow and live and love and _be_. Be happy and safe and in love and careless at times and just a person who deserves all the good things this world has to offer.

 _I've worked_ for this.

Finn let me go, let me tumble into some endless abyss, and Rachel held out her hand, stopping me, and has been showing me the way to the light I didn't even know existed.

I climbed out myself.

I'm still climbing.

"It doesn't," I find myself saying. "If you're so clued in to everything about me - which is a little stalker-ish, by the way - then you must know what's happened to me."

Zoey says nothing.

"Maybe I'm finally happy," I offer, because it's a very real truth, despite the trajectory my life's taken.

"Maybe," Zoey allows, still looking thoughtful.

We stand in silence for the longest time, and I constantly toy with the idea of actually telling her. I had the intention to, maybe, this morning, but I'm not too sure anymore. Why would I be doing it? To prove a point? I don't want to use my sexuality that way.

So, what I do end up saying is, "Yale."

Zoey's gaze snaps up. "What?"

"You asked where I'm headed in the Fall," I say. "I'm going to Yale."

Slowly, a smile spreads across her face. "Ivy League, huh?"

I roll my eyes.

"Did I call it or what?"

* * *

We're the eighth Squad to perform, which is really sad for the two to come after us.

We have fire.

Like, actual legitimate fire.

 _Flames_.

We're winning.

It's not even a question.

"You ready for this?" Santana asks, moments before we take to the bright blue mats.

I glance at her. "I know it's just a saying, but I'm pretty sure I was born ready for this."

Santana smirks all too knowingly. "One more time, huh?"

"Let's go out with a bang," I say, reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Give them something to remember."

"Reckon we'd make the national news if I end up kissing Britt out there?"

"Probably," I say. "But, you know, maybe don't do that. We have other kinds of flames to showcase."

Santana laughs. "At least you know it'll be _hot_."

I roll my eyes. "We're going to win," I say, projecting all the confidence in the world. "I'm putting it out into the Universe."

Santana gives me a look. "Why didn't I know you were so weird?"

"You did."

She's about to respond when the music for the previous squad comes to an end, and they finish in their pose. I glance over my shoulder at my accumulated Squad, making sure they're all aware we're up next. Like I've just flipped a switch, they fall into formation.

I take a deep breath, my heart steadying, just as the previous squad comes running off and the announcer calls for the Cheerios. There's an eruption of applause as we run onto the mats and fall into position, forming an arrow with me at its point.

Our heads are down, fists clenched.

This is the moment.

The crowd falls silent.

One beat, two, and then three.

The music starts, which was carefully chosen after hours and hours of scouring through catalogues. Then the choreography, which has been adjusted far too many times. And, now, here we are, an ultimate mega-mix of _Huddle Formation_ by The Go! Team blasting from the speakers.

It's a blur.

All of it.

Muscle memory kicks in, and I probably won't be able to recall any of it when it's all over.

Which ends up being true.

It feels as if I've just taken a single breath, and then the music's off and the applause is thundering. My ears are ringing, the blood rushing through my veins and my heart pounding. I'm aware my smile is blinding, because, yeah, we've totally won.

I turn my head to the side, taking in Santana's smile, and then Brittany's.

Yip.

Totally winning.

* * *

 **Rachel: If you guys don't end up winning after that amazing (terrifying) performance, it'll be a conspiracy.**

 _Quinn: Surprisingly, not the weirdest thing to happen in competitive high school cheerleading._

 **Rachel: Do I even want to know?**

 _Quinn: Probably not._

 **Rachel: I'm going to take your word for it.**

 _Quinn: How are things going that side?_

 **Rachel: Excuse me while I go put out another fire...**

 _Quinn: I love you :*_

* * *

Later, when they make the all-important announcement while we're all huddled together in anticipation on the mats, it's not really a surprise. It's more of a relief, if I'm being honest, and I feel as if this great, big weight gets lifted off my shoulders.

"Quinn," Santana breathes, her eyes wide as she turns to look at me. "We won."

I'm fully aware I must be grinning like a crazy person, but I can't bring myself to stop.

"We won!" Santana yells, her arms shooting into the air. "Holy fuck! We fucking won!"

I can't help my laugh, or my tears, because _we won we won we won_. The relief is almost overwhelming, and I feel this immense pride at the fact that we did this. _I_ did this, with no parents and no Fabray support. This is my win. Rachel's.

It's all of ours.

Santana wraps an arm around my shoulders, and the other goes around Brittany's as she pulls us both into tight, almost excruciating hugs. "We did it!" she screams, loud and proud.

I have just enough time to get my bearings before Santana practically shoves me forward to receive the trophy. Thankfully, I won't have to say any words until the victory dinner later tonight, and I just get handed the trophy, pose for a few pictures, and then return to my Squad, who are all eyeing the trophy with unconcealed excitement.

I can't help my own laughter. "Okay, you monsters," I say. "Come and get it."

Which, okay, may or may not be the worst thing to say when they all suddenly come rushing at me, swarming around me in an instant. Tackling me, really.

I really can't bring myself to care.

* * *

I know I should expect it, but the day really goes downhill from the moment the three of us manage to escape the victory dinner. After being presented with the trophy a second time, giving a short speech to thank our sponsors, our coach and the Squad, I start to get antsy.

We have to stay for a little while, at least, to show face, and I manage to sit through more droning speeches and too much cold chicken before Santana says, "Ready to blow this joint?"

Our farewell is quick. It's no secret to the Squad that we have other places to be, and Kitty even offers to help with our bags. She's sweet, and I hope she'll be better than me when the time comes for her to take the mantle. It took me too long to get to this point in my life, I think, and I want more for her. I want her to want more for herself.

Packing up our belongings doesn't take all that long, and we're checked out and on the street within an hour, having changed into more comfortable clothing for the upcoming journey. I'm already exhausted, and it really doesn't help my mood that we're going to be fighting through a hefty bit of traffic, after a car accident has forced several lane closures.

Well.

"Stop that," Santana mutters, and I freeze, stopping my fingers from their incessant tapping against the upholstery of the shuttle. "It's not like we're running late."

I clench my teeth. "Something still feels wrong," I say, and I look to the sky through the window, as if I can sense something. The hurricane has passed, barely, and all I can do now is hope there aren't any weather anomalies in the aftermath.

"Try not to think about it," Brittany says. "Otherwise, you're going to give the Universe ideas."

I smile across at her, and try to do just that.

It doesn't work.

Not even a little bit.

It's only an hour later, and that bad feeling comes to fruition in the worst way.

Of course.

 _Just can't catch a break, can you, Fabray_?

"Don't say it," I say, because I can read Santana's face, and I definitely don't like what I'm seeing. "Don't you dare."

"Q."

"No, Santana," I say. "Don't you dare come at me with - "

"They cancelled the flight."

" _Fuck_."

"Is there another one?" Brittany asks.

"There aren't _any_ flights taking off, and we were booked on the last one to Chicago, anyway," Santana says. "They've put us on the next one, but that isn't until..." she trails off, because we all already know. They were there when I made the booking.

"Fuck," I say again.

In the back of my mind, I had a feeling something like this would happen, but I prayed for everything to run smoothly, and, well... I should have known better. Nothing does simply work out for Quinn Fabray, and it's about time I accept it.

As a result, I had several backup plans in motion but, if there's _nothing_ flying out, then there's very little I can do.

Different flights, with stopovers. Helicopter. Private flight. All the things.

If we were closer, I'm sure we could have driven through the night but, God, we're in another fucking time zone. Maybe we can start, anyway. Try to get as close to Chicago as we can before we catch _any_ flight.

But, it's already so late at night. I'm exhausted, and so are they. It's dangerous, and so many other things.

We don't have much of a choice other than to sit and wait, and hope and pray.

And, then, my phone buzzes, and I have to force myself to look at my screen, even though I know exactly who it is.

 **Berry: Let me know when you've boarded. Can't wait to see you! I love you :***

I just sigh, absently handing the phone to Santana, because I really don't know how I'm supposed to get myself out of this one. The next flight isn't for another seven hours, and who knows what could happen in that time? Do we just sit and wait and hope for the best, or do we get in a car and try to get as close to Chicago as we can, before we catch an early morning flight?

"You can't tell her," Santana says what we're all already thinking. "She'll just freak out, and we need her to get her sleep, which means she needs to be calm."

And, the thing is, I already know I can't tell Rachel. She would just worry unnecessarily, and there's very little she can do that I can't do, at this point. At this moment, the most is hope the six o'clock flight is on time, and cross fingers that New Directions doesn't perform until the late afternoon.

So, with a heavy heart, I take my phone back and start to type back.

 _Quinn: They just called for us. I'll message you when we land. You should be sleeping. Big day tomorrow. I love you, I love you. Xx_

I look at Santana. "She's going to hate me."

And, really, the fact that Santana doesn't make some snarky remark is _telling_.


End file.
